


Contact

by ChrissiHR



Series: Contact [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Omegaverse, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Consent Issues, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Consent, F/F, F/M, Feelings of Inadequacy, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Informed Consent is Sexy, Institutionalized Softism, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Phil Coulson/Natasha Romanov, Minor Sam Wilson/Claire Temple, Multi, Nesting, OT5, Omega Darcy Lewis, Omega Verse, Other, Pack, Pack Bonding, Pack Cuddles, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Polyamorous Pack, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Clint Barton, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, Touching, Touchy-Feely, ace!Maria Hill, demi!Phil Coulson, friends to lovers to friends to lovers, questionable medical practices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-11 09:03:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12932001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrissiHR/pseuds/ChrissiHR
Summary: Darcy's under the weather. Steve's got a surefire cure all thanks to his ma, and a little well-meaning interference from his pack.[Extension of previous One-shot, “Hot Toddy”; Title updated 11/7/2018]





	1. Sarah's Own Recipe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zephrbabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephrbabe/gifts).



> Zephrbabe has been under the weather, so I wrote her this ShieldShock-ABO-turned-Darcy/Team-Cap-Pack, get well flashfic that turned into a ~~thousand words~~ multi-chapter fic and got completely out of hand. Feel better soon, honey! {{{hugs}}}
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Beta’d by @phoenix-173

_Knock-knock._

“Fuck obb!” The omega lady Steve came to visit bellowed from her den at the back corner of the apartment.

Amused at the little omega’s ire, he knocked again, hoping she’d be in a more forgiving mood after he’d given her his gift.

“I’m ztaying away bor your owd good. What part ub ‘called in zick’ do you azzholez not get?” she grumped, stomping down the hall towards the front door.

“The part where I’m not likely to get sick, I guess,” Steve replied when the door popped open, revealing his favorite stuffy-headed, brunette omega.

“Steeb,” she sighed, leaning on the doorjamb. “I’be hab dreabs dat ztarted jus wike dis,” she sniffled.

“With my ma’s hot toddy?” he checked, lifting the steaming mug in his hand. Facing out, the mug said ‘This is what an omegavist looks like’. On a weekend stop at a farm market in Jersey City, Bucky bought a dozen mugs with sassy sayings on them for Christmas for their apartment. Of the ones they hadn’t broken outright or chipped thus far, the omegavism one was the only mug left without the word ‘fuck’ on it somewhere.

“Ooh…” She sniffed at the mug as he held it out.

Steve snickered when her nose twitched at the scent. “It’s about eighty percent apple bourbon; got a splash of boiling water to warm it up, some lemon and honey to help your sore throat, and a dash of cinnamon to open your sinuses.”

Darcy stared at the mug with dreamy eyes. “Mawwy me.”

“Uh…”

“Not you.” Darcy swatted at her alpha visitor. “D’ obegavist bourbon. You’be paid your dues, dough, Rogerz. You zhall pazz.” She waved him into the apartment, clutching at the mug like a drowning woman grappling for a lifeline when he handed it off, but he saw the longing glance down the hallway toward her den and the nest she’d likely made for herself in bed.

“No need to stand on ceremony with me,” Steve assured her. “Just came by to see how you were doing, check if you needed anything.” His instincts had been humming all day, ever since Natasha stopped by the gym to pick Bucky up for a rare lunch outside the tower and mentioned Pepper worried about her new Senior Labs Manager calling in sick after just a few weeks on the job, that maybe it was more a desperate need for a mental health day away from Tony, rather than a cold.

But Steve could smell the faint scent of the infection in the halls and common room. It’d been going around for a few days at that point. No wonder the single omega caught the bug. Unbonded individuals were always more susceptible to illness—one of the driving forces behind the human desire to form pack bonds young and for life.

Steve and Bucky never got sick, but their other denmates, Natasha and Clint, benefited enormously from their large pack and many mated bonds. An ill omega like Darcy would weaken without their thirst for touch sated frequently during their usual daily routine and scent-swaps with coworkers and friends.

If only Steve had gotten off his ass sooner, started courting the smart-mouthed omega with legs for days and that pretty, gap-toothed smile…

Darcy blew gently, cooling the toddy enough to sip and sigh with pleasure. “Mmm… I waz jus gon’ ztart watchi’g Da Cwown on Netfwix. Come on, Steeb. It’z mot wike you’be neber been in an omega’s den befo’. You help’d For mobe me into diz pwace.”

“I… Darcy, wait,” Steve begged, reaching for her free hand and sliding his fingers up her forearm to rub their wrists together.

“Steeb?” Darcy tipped her chin up, momentarily befuddled.

“Nat reminded me you don’t have a—you live alone.” He winced. Mentioning she was a lone omega might not go over so great. Some adult omegas were sensitive about not having a pack yet. “You’ll get better faster with scent-swaps from friends, right?” he tried, hoping he hadn’t fumbled this whole thing too badly.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she stared down at their wrists, pressed together from Steve’s grip on her forearm.

“I could call Nat to come back,” he offered, eager and willing to do whatever it took to help her recover, “if you’d prefer—”

“What?” Darcy shook herself. “No,” she said in no uncertain terms. She blinked a few times, as if realigning her thoughts, then wrapped her fingers around his forearm in return. “Diz iz goob. We’re goob, wight?”

“Yeah.” Steve had to blink a few times himself as the atavistic part of his hindbrain hummed with the simple pleasure of sharing pack touch to heal an omega and strengthen the herd.

Darcy’s pupils dilated in response to some unintentional stimulus on his part.

“If you’re up to it,” he said as she turned and led him down the hall to her den, “you could come up to our place later. Bucky was making noise about picking up the ingredients while he’s out to make his ma’s matzo ball soup later. And Barton’s planning to make a big batch of garlic bread, which means most of the pack is planning to come home for dinner tonight. He said garlic’s supposed to help ailing omegas, too. If you wanted…” he trailed off, unsure how to extend an invitation to platonically cuddle one’s pack. She wasn’t in any condition to be making decisions about letting an Alpha court her right now, at any rate; Steve’s mind whirled with the proprieties.

“Puppy piwe, dinna I don’ hab to make, and a fasta recobewy?” She rolled her eyes. “Twis’ my arm, Steeb,” she sneered as best one could with a head cold and stuffy nose. She tugged him into her den, shutting the door, and manhandling him into her nest to fluff and fold the covers and pillows until she had everything just how she wanted it before climbing in after him. She turned on Netflix, but only made it as far as the opening credits before he felt the deep, even breathing signaling she’d fallen asleep. He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped out a quick text without disturbing Darcy’s unconscious kneading of his belly with her fingertips while she dozed.

“Bringing one more for dinner. If she’s awake then.”

Three dots appeared on the screen, but no message came through, so Steve sent another.

“Tell Bucky ma’s hot toddy did the trick.”

Then he settled in to let Darcy have her way, rearranging their limbs in her sleep until she sprawled across his belly and he finally had to wrap an arm around her and roll, tucking her securely underneath him and pressing her flat until she went limp under the caretaking Alpha.

And, finally, she slept.


	2. Little Orphan Darcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy gets her first taste of what it's like waking up with a pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really fucking stressed out about all the Infinity War possibilities, so just to make myself feel better, I’m editing this old ABO nesting fic update I never posted (and one or two more after this). Come on into my blanket fort to snuggle for a bit and enjoy this cuddly bullshit with me. 
> 
> Many thanks to Zephrbabe for talking me through my recent fandom meltdown and beta'ing this update. I wrote this ages ago. You have her and IW to thank that it ever saw the light of day.

The body woke surrounded by an unfamiliar scent, breaking through the congestion and muzziness clouding her head like a warm knife through butter.

 _Alpha_ , hindbrain tagged the new scent, sitting up and taking notice. _Alpha,_ it crooned sweetly this time, forcing the body to twist in her nest of blankets, seeking out the source of that delicious, weighty feeling on the back of her tongue to sate her scent-drunk monkey brain’s curiosity. She pressed her face into the warm underside of Alpha’s neck and purred happily, nuzzling at the dominance-saturated gland there. When a fresh well of heady Alpha concentrate pulled to the surface, beading up on warm skin, the body’s tongue darted out, laving over it sweetly to lap up every drop.

“Darcy,” someone murmured, peeling back the blankets to lay a cool hand against her overheated cheek.

Yes, Darcy. The body is Darcy.

More scent and flavor and information filled the body’s— _Darcy’s_ head, a rich and decadent buffet commingling all of it, padding the little pocket of air inside her nest with concerned Alpha-Beta-Gamma pheromones.

_Pack._

“Mmm…” she hummed, happily tracing the lovely flavor of the offered limb from the heel of a palm to the dominant-concerned-scented gland at the wrist. Nearby, a sound rumbled beyond the warmth of her nest, but it wasn’t for hindbrain to know or care what made the noise. Alpha would take care of it.

“Uh. She’s licking me,” Alpha whispered.

Darcy startled inside her nest when a booming chorus of laughter battered her from every direction.

“Sh!” Alpha warned the others. Then, to Darcy, “Shh, it’s okay. Claire said you’d be a little out of it for a while once you got a good whiff of the pack. It’s Steve, Darcy. You’re safe here with me and my pack. You’re welcome to den with us.”

“Alpha,” she whined, curling up small and close at the mention of others. They smelled delicious, but they weren’t _Alpha_. She needed Alpha.

When his arms tightened and tucked in the untidy edges of her nest, she sighed. Working a hand free, she laid it along his neck, drawing a finger against the damp spot there over his scent gland. She popped the finger into her mouth and sucked it clean, humming with delight around the concentrated flavor of Alpha pooling in the space between the overwrought omega glands at the back of her throat.

Warm lips pressed to her forehead and another scent broke through Darcy’s yummy Alpha fog.

 _Alpha?_ Darcy’s hindbrain almost couldn’t believe it.

_More Alpha?_

_Two_ _Alphas?_

The second Alpha scent was sweeter, more floral. Darcy licked at the proffered jaw, wriggling happily when the scent of dominant-pleased-sororal Alpha filled her little air pocket alongside concerned Alpha.

Yet another unique scent impinged immediately after on her bubble of yummy Alpha pheromones.

 _Beta_ , hindbrain tagged the newcomer easily.

Darcy nosed through the covers, searching it out. Laid over it was a thick layer of the sweet, floral Alpha scent, but underneath, the beta flavor was earthy and green, crisp, like apples and oolong tea. Hindbrain _loved_ beta scent—almost as much as Alpha. When the hand stayed inside her nest to draw a pair of fingers down the swell of her cheek, Darcy obliged, licking at it politely until the scent bloomed, suffusing her with the feeling of safety. This beta was _safe_. He belonged with her Alphas; he belonged to pack.

Hindbrain _loved_ pack.

Another hand replaced the beta scent.

 _Gamma?_ Hindbrain pulled in a long, indulgent whiff of the next newcomer. Garlic and bowstring wax, gunpowder and something else, something sweet like fruit, but tart.

Lime. 

 _Clint_ , hindbrain gave way to forebrain, tagging the scent with the ease of familiarity.

“Clint.” Darcy’s eyes snapped open, suddenly, painfully aware she was, in fact, neither sleeping nor dreaming. “Holy zhit, where ab I?” she demanded, swimming through the cocoon of blankets from her own nest to peer over the top edge at the room full of amused faces grinning back. Mortified, she ducked her head and waved at a group of people she knew mostly in passing, wishing desperately for one of Janie’s portals to open inside the blanket and transport her magically home. Then, she glanced down at herself and grimaced. The fuck was she wearing?

“You took my T-shirt,” Steve explained, flushing crimson. “You were pretty out of it for a while there. Claire said you’d come around on your own, but to, uh, just give you whatever you wanted—within reason.”

“Who’s Claiwe?” Darcy gave into the urge to snuggle closer to Steve until the embarrassment of being so far out of her own head passed. She noted with some surprise the stuffy headed feeling and thick congestion had abated drastically. Her nose still ran a little and her throat hurt, but the painfully full feeling in her head was gone.

“I am.” A woman with dark, wavy hair and the glowy complexion of a newlybonded appeared next to Steve on the sofa in dark yoga pants and a navy V-neck T-shirt. In Steve’s apartment? Darcy wasn’t sure. She must have really been gone if she hadn’t noticed him carrying her up here from her place. “I asked Steve to bring you up,” the woman explained. “None of us felt comfortable entering your den uninvited.”

Darcy looked from the lovely brunette to Steve, her brow furrowed in confusion. “But I inbited Stebe in. And I know Clint and Agen’ iPod T’ief.”

Across the room, Phil chuckled, smiling eyes trained on the report he continued to read on his tablet.

“No one here was a hundred percent sure of your pack affiliation and the denning consent forms you filed with SI haven't been updated since your original S.H.I.E.L.D. intake interview,” Claire explained gently. “With Prince Thor and Dr. Foster away, there was no pack to ask on your behalf before tracking our scents all through your private den.”

“But ... Cwint is wisted ond by dennig conse't fo'ms because I don’t hab a pack.” Darcy wasn’t ashamed of it. Clint denned down with them a couple times out in P.A. when he was separated from his own pack. And Darcy loved Thor and Jane, but Thor’s people had much more complicated pack dynamics, Thor especially because of his position on Asgard. Jane had been welcomed into his pack by the pack’s other Alpha after proving herself in battle. Sif didn’t have much use for Darcy—not that Darcy minded. Their pack was a little rough and rowdy for her taste. Not a single Gamma or Omega among them. Surprisingly, Jane fit right in. Darcy most definitely did not.

The pretty redhead Darcy knew only professionally as the Black Widow rumbled lowly from her perch on the ottoman in front of Darcy and Steve. Without scenting her again, Darcy couldn’t be sure, but she’d lay odds on the spy being the other Alpha scent suddenly crowding the room with indignant anger on Darcy’s behalf.

“You have a pack here if you want us,” the redhead stated plainly. “Excuse me,” she managed to bite out before slipping out of the room, a strong waft of something lonely and melancholy trailing in her wake. Agent iPod Thief set aside his Starkpad with a wink for Darcy and excused himself to check on the Widow.

“Don’t mind Nataliya.” The Winter Soldier waved off Darcy’s worried glance after his packmates. “We’ve all been a little worked up since we heard Thor and Foster left you without any pack in case of an emergency. You really don’t have a platonic bond with Thor’s pack?” he checked.

Darcy shook her head. “Wif Jane once, but … Aesir custobs cobplicate pack dydabics. I’mb too…” Darcy worried her lip, looking around nervously at the room full of supers and agents as she admitted, “Too obega.”

A low, angry rumble vibrated under Darcy’s hand. Her head snapped up and she hurried to explain before Steve’s Alpha instincts led to a misunderstanding that couldn’t be fixed, “Thewe are no gabbas or obegas on Asdard at all. As a wawwior cuwture, dey unintentionawwy bwed dem out of deir society over da miwwenia. I witerawwy hab no pwaze in an Aesir pack. It’s reawwy not deir fault. Dey just don’t see be as a potential packbate.”

She tucked her head under Steve’s chin, purring as soothing a rhythm as she could manage in her current condition to calm the overwrought Alpha, but it sounded more like a dyspeptic Vespa engine than the melodic croon of a happy omega. “Dey’we too wough and snooty for be. Even if dey asked, I wouldn’t feew wike I fit id. I’m too soft, too … too fo’gibbing and cobbon. They don’t wan’ heawthkeepahs in deir packs. Gabbas are consida’d second-cwass citizens on Asdard; gabba or obega elbes and dwarbes bight be awwowed to serve in da kitchens or waundries dere, or awongside da head heawer, but dey’we not a part of da court or wawwior cwasses.”

She sniffed and some of the stuffiness came back until Claire leaned over to offer her wrist for a friendly scent-swap.

Hindbrain gladly cleared those congested cobwebs right the fuck out to snort some fresh gamma scent. Darcy pressed her nose to Claire's skin and inhaled deeply.

“That’s why you don’t go to Asgard.” Phil hummed thoughtfully under his breath, standing in the doorway with the Widow tucked under his arm and wrapped around his waist.

Darcy cast them a wan smile.

“I went along once.” She startled at the clarity of her voice.

Claire pressed Steve’s wrist to Darcy’s mouth until instinct kicked in and Darcy licked it delicately a few times, embarrassed though she was to fall back on the childish comfort of scent-swap licking.

When Claire smiled and nodded at Darcy as if to try speaking again, Darcy let go and cleared her throat. The words came ten times easier. “They refer to me as Jane’s hearthkeeper on Asgard. When she’s off doing Thor things, I end up explaining to the chambermaids why I’d sooner toss Jane’s ratty bras into the fire than wash them for her by hand.” Darcy choked on a laugh. “The maids were scandalized. How dare a common hearthkeeper refuse to wash the future Allmother’s holey, faded unmentionables?”

She laid her head on Steve’s shoulder and smiled at his pack.

“Thank you for doing this,” she whispered. “I’m sure you all have better things to do than den an orphan omega with a head cold.”

The Winter Soldier sat up straight and leaned forward.

“Whaddya mean ‘orphan omega’?” He glared at Steve. The beta shot off the ottoman to circle the sectional sofa occupied by most of his pack. “Dammit, Stevie! You didn’t say she was an orphan! She’s been livin’ here alone all this time—no packmates and no damn family?!”

She stretched and sighed when Steve stroked the back of her head, cradling her that much closer when he admitted, “I didn’t know.”

“Doll.” The Soldier stopped pacing and knelt on the floor beside Steve’s spot on the sofa. “We’re happy to have ya den here, anytime. Pack calls me Bucky, but James is okay, too. Whatever you’re more comfortable with.” He offered a hand, palm up, bleeding the soft, subtle aroma of beta-fraternal-safe-warm into the pack scent surrounding Darcy on all sides. She pushed aside her nesting blankets to lay her hand in his, mewling happily when he brought her knuckles up to kiss before turning over her hand. With parted lips, he lowered his mouth to the heel of her palm to suckle at the rich omega oil gland there. His eyes fluttered closed as he sucked and, to Darcy, it felt as if time stood still.

_Safe. Packmate. Warmth. Den._

Darcy’s eyes drifted momentarily. She hummed, melting into Steve’s embrace and, within the privacy of her swaddled nest, surrendered to the urge to part her legs, arching her back and baring her throat for the beta and his Alphas. Between them, Darcy had never felt more _right_.

She reveled in the scent and flavor of the beta and Alphas for long minutes, losing track of time as hindbrain rolled happily in so much pack scent. Eventually, the cushion she reclined on on top of Steve dipped a few feet away.

Her eyes drifted open.

The only other person in the room Darcy had never met before sat beside Claire.

“I’m Sam Wilson.” He held out a hand so Darcy could choose herself whether to shake politely or scent-swap like more familiar friends. She dragged her fingers over the scent gland in his wrist and he did the same, meeting her in the middle. He, too, had the glowy all over complexion and heady scent of the newlybonded.

“Hi, Sam. I’m sorry about all this.” She rubbed the crown of her head under Steve’s jaw and the Alpha purred, stilling all movement in the room.

“Stevie?” Bucky asked, incredulous. He leaned over the back of the sofa to look Darcy in the eye. “Haven’t heard him make that sound since … before you were born.” The beta chuckled. He laid a hand on the back of Steve’s neck and the vibrations picked up, tickling Darcy’s ribs. She started to laugh, but it was lost in the vibration of her instinctual answering purr.

“Steve,” she crooned, rubbing against him like a very happy omega, indeed.

“I love it here. I’d stay forever if I could,” was her last happy thought as supreme contentment turned to drowsiness when Steve and Bucky started rubbing her back in tandem, sending Darcy drifting back into the warm and welcoming arms of Morpheus, dreaming of belonging to a pack like Steve’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One final note: I can't believe I have to say this on a Darcyland fic, but I've had a run of a lot more negative, nitpicky complaints and demands for updates than usual in the comments on my fics lately. The thought of having to read one more comment in which the reader couldn't be bothered to say _one_ nice thing has brought me to tears more than once this past week. I had to shut off email notifications for comments just so I have the option of only reading comments when my heart can take the abuse. 
> 
> If you can't think of _one_ nice thing to say, please just don't say anything at all. I write these stories for myself because I love the characters and sometimes writing them fluffy, domestic fun is the only thing that can head off an anxiety attack for me. I only share these stories because it's fun. _It's supposed to be fun._ When it stops being fun and forces me to double up my anxiety meds just to get through my comment notifications, I have no reason to continue posting the fic I'm writing. You're the master of your own free entertainment destiny here. Choose wisely. Be kind to your content creators.


	3. Jane's Neglect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds out more about how Darcy ended up getting sick and why she thinks it's no big deal. The pack lays down the law. Plus petting, lots of petting and cuddles. And a few feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really just here to write Steve in a puppy pile with his packmates, talking about feelings and the necessity of hugs, okay?
> 
> Huge thanks go to Zephrbabe again for staying up so very late with me the last two nights, hashing out what I needed from Steve’s POV in this update and slashing my excess worldbuilding jargon down to just the necessities. She’s got a great, critical eye for dialing in my tendency to free-write to figure out where characters want to go next. She’s the best.
> 
> Incidental to this chapter, Zeph knits like a boss and provided all the knitting knowledge I definitely do not have that was required for this chapter. I paint. I do not knit.

“You stubborn, Irish asshole.”

“Whu?” Steve lifted his head, blinking away the fog of contented Alpha hormones clouding his thoughts thanks to the pretty omega sprawled over his arm. It took no effort at all to support her back as she dozed in his lap. Poor little thing was exhausted. And definitely underfed. Fragile in his grasp, she reminded him of a bird fallen from the nest before it was ready to fly.

Impatient with his best friend’s useless Alpha brain, Bucky climbed over the back of the sectional, lifting Darcy’s blanket-bundled legs with care to slide underneath. He slung his right arm around Steve and the Alpha struggled not to slump as bonelessly as the woman in his lap for the way pack touch fed that ancient, primordial part of Steve that craved human contact.

“Half’a this could’a been avoided if ya just told her how ya felt weeks ago. Lookit here,” Bucky said, flipping over a Starkpad one-handed while his other hand occupied itself exploring the strip of skin under the hem of Steve’s shirt.

Steve shivered, but pushed into the warmth of seeking fingers and a wide palm that had long known every inch of him, since the days when _Steve_ was the sickly omega no one ever touched without damn good reason. He suffered contact deprivation nearly his entire life with his ma working long hours at the hospital and no da to speak of at home. The echoing emptiness was a hardship that never really abated, no matter how robust the pack thrived in his second life. Bucky and his sisters did what they could to slake Steve’s skinthirst as children, but their folks worried like so many others in the neighborhood that whatever it was killing Steve since birth would spread like wildfire, unchecked and unsupported as he was.

No one knew enough back then to recognize the skinthirst was the thing killing him.

“Clint convinced Ms. Potts to give me and Nataliya access to the tower security records going back three months now,” Bucky explained. “Eleven weeks—that’s how long your Darcy’s been managing the executive R&D level on her own. I checked all three shifts’ worth of video feeds and Nat confirmed it—Darcy’s had no platonic contact in the tower with Foster or Thor since her third day on the job. Those two headed off to Asgard to touch base with their pack when Foster became agitated after the move.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t quite follow wherever Bucky tried to lead him, but his eyes zeroed in on the footage of the lab playing on the Starkpad.

On screen, Darcy tried to offer a conciliatory scent-swap to the distressed doctor, but the beta scientist brushed her omega friend off, merely grazing Darcy’s sweater with the side of her hand. Scent-swapping through clothing was, at best, inefficient, but with a naturally skinthirsty omega, the slight would have been palpable, bordering on cruel, especially from a former denning partner, no matter their platonic bond. These days, it should have been impossible for someone to be unaware of how rapidly skinthirsty omegas could decline without proper care and contact. Even Steve had that lesson within days of waking in the future. Modern society recognized it had a responsibility to all omegas in that regard. But to brush off the _offer of touch_ from an omega was a serious insult—an offense bordering on abuse, one that could end the best of friendships or land even a balanced, healthy omega in the hospital in a depressive spiral.

Steve’s nostrils flared. How dare the doctor treat her omega friend so carelessly? Even if the woman were only an assistant, the refusal of casual contact would have been _devastating_ to an omega.

“The footage we have for comparison from the week before their falling out is no better,” Bucky reported with no little regret.

“You’re saying this was an established pattern,” Steve growled as Bucky flipped to another scene of Foster walking away from Darcy’s outstretched hand without acknowledging the silent request for contact.

Bucky sighed. “There’s no way to know how long this kind of neglect went on before we clued in that something was off about their dysfunctional dynamics. Potts says H.R. would have assigned Darcy an omega or gamma contact companion from the executive counseling pool if they’d known, but neither Foster nor Thor mentioned anything special about their pack needs in their admission interviews when they were vetted to move into the tower.”

“And no one thought to ask if she was a member of Thor’s pack? This is why welfare checks _exist!_ ” Steve fumed. “For the people who fall through the cracks! I thought there were federal guidelines now, requiring new employers to run medical and welfare checks as part of a background check.”

“Pack welfare checks are only recommended—not required at the federal level—and Darcy already had the necessary security clearances. Steve,” Bucky forestalled his Alpha’s next objection. “I _know_. It pisses me right the fuck off, too, that it’s still happening seventy years gone, but we can only look at this thing with hindsight now. There was no reason to dig any deeper into her pack affiliation at the time.”

“Was she afraid to ask for help?” Steve couldn’t fathom how a modern, single omega wouldn’t ask about her contact benefits with a new employer.

Bucky grimaced. “We think someone assumed Darcy was informed of her benefits by her beta before signing on with SI, since she had to sign an employment contract under Foster’s purview, and Foster damned well _should have_ covered it. Darcy’s admission interview with SI was more or less preempted when she informed the former A.D. of Security’s office of her S.H.I.E.L.D. clearance and provided them with notarized, digital copies of her employment and security files from her existing work with Foster.”

“So, wait… She never had an admission interview?” Steve couldn’t believe Stark Industries had such a huge, gaping flaw in their pre-employment vetting process. He vibrated with the sudden overwhelming desire to shove Darcy safely into Nat’s and Bucky’s arms and stalk the perimeter of the Avengers’ private quarters, checking for more holes in the building’s defenses.

Natasha appeared behind the sofa, resting her weight on the back of it to trail a hand up Steve’s shoulder and finger comb through the short hairs at the back of his neck. He sighed into the contact, limbs loosening as tension drained away like cooling bathwater, grateful for the reassuring touch when all of his instincts screamed at him to hunt down and punish anyone who’d ever wronged the sickly omega and put her at risk. It took little imagination on his part to see her as he once saw himself—unlovable and unworthy of asking for life-saving contact. Steve wanted to fix it. He _had_ to.

While Nat petted and soothed her fellow pack leader, she explained, “With all of the proper emergency consent forms on file and Clint—an Avenger, mind you—listed as an emergency contact, no one thought to question her further about her dynamic or contact needs, especially as part of the highly esteemed Dr. Foster’s scientific retinue. Selvig’s admission interview ended the same way: no follow up, no support services rendered. Security was intimidated by the collective reputations of Thor and Foster. They dropped the ball.”

“—and before you get your back up,” Bucky cut off Steve’s rant when the Alpha opened his mouth to share a few explicit thoughts on that, “Yes, Clint and I are filing a formal complaint with Stark Industries about the slack security and H.R. bungling Darcy’s omega support needs. We’re _working_ on it so it doesn’t happen again.”

“Alright.” Steve swallowed the excess saliva pooling on the back of his tongue as his Alpha glands overproduced to the point of gagging him with the need to fix it. To fix _everything_.

“As far as consent goes, she did list Clint as a former denning partner with continuing consent, which means she is already tangentially a part of our pack. An argument can be made for us to take responsibility for her future wellbeing under these conditions until she can be informed and make her own choices. Steve,” Nat paused, waiting until she had his undivided attention, “I understand your reluctance to court Darcy under normal circumstances, but these are hardly normal circumstances. She’s been contact-starved for months, at a minimum, and that kind of neglect can snowball.”

“What Nataliya is trying to say, pal—” Bucky’s hand pressed between his Alpha’s shoulder blades, “—is that you either get off your ass and court her after what we’ve learned today—”

“—or we’ll do it without you,” Nat finished.

“Time’s up, Rogers,” Clint added, joining the conversation as he emerged from the kitchen with another Starkpad in hand, smelling of the sharp tang of lemon from modern dish detergent.

“What are you doing?” Steve demanded, when the archer rolled over the back of the sofa to join the pack sprawl across the sectional’s pullout mattress.

Clint wriggled and huffed until Bucky made room, chuckling when the blond took that as an invitation to sit between Bucky’s legs and use him as a human lounge. The familiar scent of garlic and bowstring wax had Steve breathing deep and relaxing into the denning cushions piled up around them.

“She likes soft things, flannel, knitwear, low lighting, and she’ll need a den closer to the pack for a while anyway,” Clint explained, thumbing through omega, heat-soft nesting supplies available online with free, same-day shipping. “She and I’ve denned together before, obviously, and I’m not actually using the spare den in my suite right now. I hardly ever sleep in my own den as it is. Figured we could do the courting thing backwards since Steve-O screwed it up already—just let her wake up when this cold finally passes to realize we’ve already held an omega shower and she’s been staying in a new den just for her.”

“And when she takes offense at the presumption that she’d just move up here without anyone asking her opinion?” Steve asked, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, asking himself that age old question: Why him? He loved his pack, but he knew better than most how easily they could convince themselves of damn near anything and steamroll anyone in the way. Across his lap, Darcy curled up again, turning, seeking out the warmth of his touch even in her sleep.

“It’s a courting gift,” Nat reasoned. “She’s not _required_ to accept it—and she’ll always have a place here with the pack, even if she only wants a platonic bond. Think about it, Steve. She’s already comfortable with Clint in their friendship. She won’t be offended to find out Clint made space for her to den in his own apartment.”

“I guess,” Steve conceded begrudgingly, though he’d begun to hope he might convince her to den down in the spare in his own apartment…

“And when is the last time you had an omega to pamper, Alpha?” Nat teased, needling him with fingertips dragged along the bonding gland beneath his ear.

(He shivered. Pampering and tending to an omega brought a singular kind of joy to even the most hardened Alpha. Only an omega, in fact, had the ability to induce the buried instinct to nurture in prime Alphas like Steve and Natasha. Steve… He wanted that. Wanted to be what she needed.)

“Nineteen-forty-one, maybe?” Steve mused, unsure of the exact year. “How old was Becca in forty-one?” he twisted around in the covers to poke at his beta.

“Christ, Stevie…” Bucky shook his head and slumped back against his best friend’s shoulder to glare at the ceiling, too, deep in thought. “Dunno. Eighteen, maybe? But she’d been in and out of your den for fifteen years before that, I guess, tryin’ ta help me keep ya alive when ya were just a sickly little slip of an omega cub. Everybody else was always so worried you were contagious with one thing and another, they forgot how sick ya’d get just from the skinthirst.”

“Darcy should be due some kind of recompense for SI fumbling this whole thing, right?” Steve wondered aloud. “I know I read somewhere that employers have a responsibility to assess and provide contact services to gammas and omegas without adequate pack support now, don’t they?”

“There are minimum, state-mandated requirements, yes,” Phil confirmed, framed in the door of the foyer separating their pack quarters from the Avengers’ common room. “I’ve just come from a meeting with Ms. Potts. She’s, to put it plainly, horrified that Darcy suffered contact deprivation of any kind on Stark Industries’ watch. She’d like to arrange a meeting with whoever is taking responsibility for Darcy’s recovery. SI will provide whatever Darcy needs to get her back on her feet, beginning with a full physical and emotional eval by Dr. Cho as soon as Darcy is settled in her den. They’ll need to complete the assessment first to be sure, but I’m guessing she’ll have at least a month to get back on her feet.”

At Steve's back, Nat bristled and hissed, “A month’s leave of absence is barely enough time to recover from the head cold and the time she’s been without contact since Foster left, much less whatever traumatic neglect came before!”

“If it’s any consolation,” Phil tried to placate the female Alpha, “I don’t think the neglect was malicious or intentional. I get the impression from some of Darcy’s early interviews with S.H.I.E.L.D. that she’s been deprived and contact-starved for so long, she has no idea what the _absence_ of skinthirst should feel like. Foster probably had no idea it was so serious, and it never occurred to Darcy to speak up about a need she didn't recognize as more than a luxury.”

The room erupted in whispered cursing.

“That’s one of the reasons she’s so loopy,” Claire looked up from her embroidery to point out. “She’s literally contact high right now.”

“Steve, man…” Sam finally spoke up by Claire’s side. “You cannot wait for this girl to start feeling better before you court her. She might not make it that long without an Alpha, at the very least.”

Clint shoved the Starkpad under Steve’s nose. “She likes things that are handmade, that you can’t just buy at Target. Knitted, homey stuff.” His brow furrowed as he frowned at the video that began to play, showing how to cast on with oversized yarn in a vibrant shade of yellow-green that gave Steve an instant headache. “We should make her something for her first courting gift from the pack.”

“Knitting?” Nat climbed up onto the back of the couch, crowding Steve with her knees pressed to the side of his ribs while she peered over his shoulder. “I could learn to knit. Do you think she’d like a blanket?”

“For her den?” Clint screwed up his face, considering what she might need in her new den if they meant to make it inviting enough for her to want to stay. “She loves, like, colorful blankets and sweaters and socks in mismatched stripes. Um, and crocheted stuff? Like, she’s got one big blanket that looks like … a granny square? A giant granny square with a little pocket at the end to tuck her feet into when they get cold.”

“Don’t look at me, man,” Sam said when Steve glanced at his wingman. “I can cook and I’m happy to have Tony’s chef or nutritionist or whatever backseat driving while we figure out how to feed your girl up again, but I do not knit.”

“We should make sure she knows she has options,” Steve considered. “When I was … before the serum, I would have lashed out at anyone who tried to make decisions for me, or for my own good.”

“What did you have in mind?” Nat buried both hands in his hair and scritched at his scalp. He lost himself in the sensation, eyes fluttering, turning and twisting until she dragged her fingers over ever square millimeter of his head.

“She could…” He cleared his throat when her fingers stilled and she pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head. “I haven’t built a nest since bootcamp, but I’m the only one here who has, so…” He took a deep breath. “There’s the spare den in my suite, too, with the jack & jill nesting box in between dens. She could have the whole apartment and I’ll move into one of the others. She should … should have a choice.”

“A choice between Clint’s spare room that reeks of garlic, pepperoni, and gamma male, or moving into a handsome, virile Alpha’s suite saturated in prime denning hormones?” Nat teased, tickling at the back of his ears with her pinkies until his face heated. “Gee, I wonder which one she’ll choose…?”

The others snickered, too, but Darcy mumbled in her sleep, “Steeeeb…”

He felt a zing like an electric shock zip through his body, tingling at the tips of his fingers and toes, every part of him alight with excitement. His omega _remembered_ him in her dreams, called out for him…

“Steeb…” she crooned again.

Clint stuffed a hand in between her face and Steve’s shirt, letting her snuffle over his wrist with sleep-clumsy nuzzles. She made a face and twisted away, shoving her nose hard into the soft part of Steve’s belly and inhaling deeply.

“Steeb,” she sighed happily, turning over on her own belly to try to tuck him under _her_ this time.

Meek as a church mouse, Steve moved easily wherever she arranged him until she straddled his thighs and rubbed herself shamelessly against his, well, _all of him_ until he was sure she’d wake from the discomfort of his misbehaving arousal poking her in the belly.

“Darcy,” Clint whispered, not at all offended when the omega preferred to huff and rub herself all over some prime Alpha scent in her sleep instead of the easy-going gamma alternative.

“Mmm…?” Darcy half-roused. (Okay, maybe more like a quarter.) In her drowsy state, she still managed to unbutton Steve’s last three buttons to tangle her hands in the whisper-soft T-shirt underneath and knead at his abs like a denning kit.

“We’re gonna make up a guest den with more privacy for you while you stay with us. So do you want the spare room in my quarters or the one in Steve’s apartment? An apartment which Steve is more than happy to give up and turn into your own personal apartment if you say the word because his Alpha monkey-brain _desperately_ needs to lay courting gifts at your feet like a smitten housecat—” Clint yelped when Bucky pinched his ribs.

“Steeb,” she said succinctly.

The archer grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “ ‘Steeb’, she says. You all heard her. Sounds like the little lady knows what she wants.”

In her sleep, Darcy smiled, too, and shoved her hand down the front of Steve’s pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: I write for myself as therapy for my anxiety. I only post these updates to share with all of you. _This is supposed to be fun._ So, new readers, please remember I'm a person with feelings when you talk to me in the comments and that saying something nice goes a long way towards softening the blow of whatever else you feel compelled to shout at me or complain about in my writing, okay?


	4. A Clinterlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're here mostly because of skinthirst and the touch starvation tag, you should check out the trailer for the upcoming movie, Five Feet Apart. It looks so good! It dinged all my latent touch-starvation bells when I saw the trailer last night.
> 
> Many thanks to Zephrbabe, who's probably pre-read _several_ versions of this chapter now, and offered a wealth of helpful advice to help me get on with it already. XD This update has been edited since her last pass, so all remaining errors are mine. 
> 
> Suggested listening: Hold My Girl by George Ezra

Clint’s latent gamma instincts hummed with contentment as he flipped through the Simply Courting catalog he’d stashed in his nesting closet months ago ~~in case~~  for when Rogers finally came to his senses.

Today is ~~Clint’s _their_~~ _Steve’s_ day!

For months, the Alpha hovered on the fringes of team gatherings in the common room and impromptu meetings in Stark’s lab, still unconvinced of his meteoric rise in social status in a body he’d only consciously inhabited for a total of four years. Years of omega memories failed to prepare the Alphas’ Alpha for a social life at the top of the food chain, much less with healthy coping mechanisms for all the new, strange instincts that body must suddenly be screaming at him.

Hell, Clint’s instincts had been screaming at him to pursue the pretty omega since she bowed up in Coulson’s face to demand he give back Foster’s equipment way back in Puente Antiguo. God, the balls on her. If only there’d been security footage of that stare-down. He could watch it all day.

Omegas could become incredibly territorial, especially over any small space they tended, or on behalf of those they cared about most.

Slight of stature, Darcy embodied the ideal omega female with lush curves (when she was healthy) and petite, elvin features. Even her career, Clint considered, catered to the inherent omega aptitude to care for others. And according to Stark, Darcy was damn good at what she did. One of the reasons the engineer agreed to bring in Foster in the first place was Pepper’s professional interest in the doctor’s young omega assistant. Darcy was really damn good at her job and it showed in that Darcy ran Foster’s lab like a Swiss watch while other scientists might have, at best, a revolving door of questionably qualified interns relearning the process of running a top of the line lab every semester. Pepper saw the potential there and an opportunity to curate a more balanced environment for the team in their daily lives, too.

It had been too long since any of them last lived or worked with an omega.

And it showed.

For months, Darcy struggled without the resources she was due. Overdue, really.

Just as Clint was resolving to make it right and ragging on Steve, a sharp, collective inhale to his right made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Alrighty.” Sam bolted upright, dragging Claire to her feet. (Not that Clint noticed with his eyes drawn like a magnet to Darcy’s hand buried in Steve’s pants.) “If y’all don’t need us, we’ll just—?” Sam hooked a thumb over his shoulder, but he was already dragging Claire from the room.

Maria—who’d sat silently through the brief discussion when Darcy woke for a time—and Phil weren’t far behind.

Steve growled, but not in the usual way of a warning. A shiver raced down Clint’s spine.

“Unless you think you’ll need help putting a stop to…?” Phil offered with a vague hand gesture as he backed out, but it couldn’t be more obvious he’d rather be anywhere else than a room slowly filling with the scent of Alpha rapidly devolving into sympathy rut to care for his ill omega. Combined with two other pack members eyeing one another with intense arousal, an amused female Alpha leaking goading pheromones all over everyone, and the little omega who triggered them all, it was a bit much, even for hard-boiled agents like Hill and Coulson.

Clint had just enough presence of mind to bark, “Jarvis!” as he grabbed Darcy by the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder along with her blankets to haul her off to his spare den for a breather and some space from all the touching. Ugh. Clint grimaced. So much touching without fully informed consent. What were they thinking? “Lock this door and buy us two minutes,” he ordered the A.I., closing them inside the smaller spare he sometimes retreated to when his master den didn’t feel close and dark enough to nest in while he recovered from an injury.

When the door swung shut with a snap and the titanium alloy lock slid into place, he exhaled a relieved breath and swung Darcy around to his front to cradle the drowsy omega against his chest. Concentrating on protecting and caring for his omega, he focused on the feeling of wanting to shelter her and keep her safe from harm.

It worked. Clint’s scent glands throbbed and itched, pulsing with a fresh well of oily, gamma pheromones to fill and saturate the small pocket of space in the spare den. The scent would leak under the door, calming the Alphas and beta having a hurried discussion on the other side while Clint eased up on all the heat-and-rut-triggering touching and held Darcy loosely in his embrace.

“Hi.” She blinked up at him owlishly. “Wha’ happen?” She shook her head once, twice, her eyes clearing with every breath of fiercely protective gamma layered with caution.

“Hey, so a thing is about to happen,” he said as the knob of the dead-bolted door jiggled with impatience. Okay, so maybe he needed to stink the place up some more. He panicked for a moment, gathering Darcy close and burying her face against his arterial scent glands. He started babbling when Steve whined behind the door, “You’ve been in a contact haze for a bit and—let me be clear—nobody blames you whatsoever because this was more or less inevitable with Steve screamy-pining for you for months like a kid licking a candy store window, but you’ve gotta make a snap decision here and I’ll support you either way. You, um, you kinda triggered Steve and Nat’s sympathy ruts, and me and Buck can totally take care of that problem if you don’t wanna den down with my partners ‘til you’re feeling better, or ever at all, but you should know, for real, Steve would give his left nut to share his rut with you. He’s just really, really awkward about courting you because he’s been in an Alpha body for, like, a minute, compared to how many years he suffered skinthirst as an omega and his whole neighborhood made him feel like a leper.” Clint readjusted his grip and hoiked her up tighter in his arms as he rambled while someone whined and tried the door again.

“Steve,” Clint raised his voice and turned his head toward the door over Darcy’s shoulder. “Darce needs to see Dr. Cho before she can confirm her decisions will remain the same on her denning consent forms or makes any changes, and I need a minute to talk to her about that. Why don’t you go find Cho and fill her in so Darcy can rest and get that exam done ASAP? Then, we’ll talk about denning arrangements?”

Darcy turned to stare at the door—bowed in slightly by someone leaning on it, the same blinky, goofy expression on her face, before returning to his scent glands to bury her nose in yummy, calming gamma and flicking her tongue over the fresh well of scent.

“Honey,” Clint snorted with a smile at the feel of her little kitten licks, “it’s real talk time. Steve Rogers is out there and he’s _really_ hot for you. You wanna share his sympathy rut with him? Now’s the time to say so or I’m gonna have to drag you outta here through the vents before it occurs to him to follow your scent and climb up there himself to come find you first.” Clint laughed. Man, he’d kinda love to see Steve try. He’d be stuck at the shoulders two feet in, ass hanging out in the wind, with his hindbrain doing the thinking for him.

The titanium door lock whined in protest and a startled laugh bubbled up between them, choking her a little as she wiggled to be put down.

Clint obliged, setting her on her feet and tugging Steve’s shirt down around her hips to preserve her modesty as her blankets pooled on the floor around her feet. She swayed for a moment and Clint steadied her, leading her to the small daybed in the corner, perfect for nesting and healing from an injury. As a nesting box, the spare den wouldn’t really do long term, but that’s one of the things they’d discuss before anyone opened the door.

She chewed on her bottom lip, glancing at the door and back at Clint. She blinked again, long and slow, and a steady smile spread from dimpled cheek to cheek. Clear blue eyes full of mischief met his and he groaned internally. He knew that look. Bucky got that look sometimes. Hell, _Steve got that look all the time_.

“Alphas love to chase, right?” she drawled, taking a step toward the door instead of the bed.

Clint’s eyes widened in shock. Good little omegas weren’t supposed to know about the kind of games Alphas played when they thought no one was paying attention.

“Um, yeah?” He fidgeted, buying time as he tried to find the right words, hemmed a little, hawed a little, and finally cleared his throat. “There are some, uh, underground fetish clubs where packs and bonded groups roleplay antiquated pack dynamic behaviors ... safely, I guess? Um, ‘chase-and-subdue’ and 'run-and-submit' is a thing you— _they_ do, not that _I’ve_ ever— but I’ve heard that that’s … a thing you can— _they—_  they do.”

With a nod as if she’d decided something important, Darcy exhaled and rolled her shoulders, settling into a more solid stance with her bare feet braced shoulder-width apart.

“Jarvis,” she breathed deep, drawing in a deep lungful of her gamma’s comforting scent and steeling herself for something.

Clint watched Darcy with wide eyes, wondering what the hell she was thinking.

“Open the door,” she commanded.

“JARVIS-DO-NOT-OPEN-THE-DOOR-HOLY-SHIT,” Clint ordered, scrambling to put himself between the door and Darcy. He flattened himself against it, arms spread across the door and walls on either side. “Darce,” he breathed when she crowded him, rubbing herself all over him—anything to get her way, to get to the door and through it, to get to her Alphas. Cupping her cheeks, he huffed and panted more calming gamma pheromones directly into her face, praying it would slow her down enough to think things through. “Honey, I’m still listed as emergency contact on your denning consent forms. If you can’t make an informed decision and do something to show me you’re in your right mind _right the fuck now_ , I’ll be forced to have Cho sedate you and take you down to a heat suite in Medical to ride out this heat you’re not even aware you’re about to start. Come on. Look at me, Darce. Or better yet, close your eyes and just breathe with me for a minute.”

Her eyes fluttered at the carefully couched order from her gamma and she swayed, drifting closer, falling into his arms. Clint breathed a sigh of relief when Bucky’s voice came through the door, quiet, so as not to disturb the progress Clint was making. “Stevie and Nat are on their way down to Medical to get Cho. Good call, Hawk.”

“Honest to God, Buck, she was gonna open that door and bolt down the hallway.” Clint shook with tremors of sheer terror at the mental image of sheltered little Darcy trying to play run-and-submit, of all things, with Delta Pack’s prime Alphas hot on her heels, but firmed his resolved when Darcy responded to his fear for her with a sudden low whine. He cut the negativity off like a light switch and thought long and hard about cuddling up to Bucky and pizza, and petting Pizza Dog instead—soft, fluffy, happy, big-golden-eyed, pepperoni-centered thoughts. Darcy melted in his embrace at the rapid change in his scent. “Do you know what that would do to two Alphas in pre-sympathy rut?” Clint hissed.

“Nothin’ good,” came the muttered reply. Bucky must have been leaning outside the door with his mouth right up to the crack. “I’m gonna stay here ‘til Cho’s done because when she gets back, those two knotheads are gonna be right on her heels. I figure me, Phil, and Hill can keep ‘em busy with running courting errands for an hour or two, but we’ll need to go up to Darce’s place at some point, too, to collect a bag and some of her necessities. That buys you maybe two hours to cuddle her alone and try to talk her down to someplace with sense in her head. You got a tablet or your phone in there with ya?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’ll take a tablet and StarkTime you two, so’s Darcy can point me and the knotheads at whatever it is she thinks she’ll need the next week or so ‘til she’s well enough to wear more than pajama pants and Stevie’s shirts.”

“Yeah, okay. Good plan.” Clint exhaled.

“You’re doin’ alright, Hawk.” Barnes’ safe-warm-fraternal-proud beta scent seeped around the edges of the door.  “Did real good. Soon as you realized she was already in pre-heat, you separated her from the Alphas. Then you put her someplace safe where she’d feel safe, too, and bought her time to come to her senses and make her own choices.”

“Yeah.” Clint buried his face in her hair and sniffed. It was a little closer than Clint was really comfortable with—how rapidly she’d gone from conscious and chatty to out of her head, instinctively rubbing on their Alpha and pumping out pre-heat pheromones to goad _any_ available Alpha to care for her.

What if he hadn’t been there? What if she’d had the bright idea to play at run-and-submit when Steve went up to visit her earlier?

Clint exhaled and counted to ten. Somebody had to be the voice of reason and, against all odds and evidence to the contrary, it might actually have to be him for once.

“You’re the fella I’d want on my dennin’ consent forms if I didn’t have a pack, pal,” Bucky continued to praise and encourage his packmate. “Lewis chose well when she picked you. She’s safe to make her own choices right now ‘cause a’you, Hawk.”

Something loosened in Clint’s mind at the praise. The tension bowing his back and shoulders eased, and he let go of the fear, wrapping himself around his omega and letting himself enjoy it for once.

“Good omega,” Clint crooned, knowing now what Darcy needed to hear to crawl back into her own forebrain, thanks to his beta. “You did so good, keeping your consent form current, and the way you did just what I asked. Kept yourself safe, stayed here with me where I can protect you ‘til you can protect yourself. Good girl, good omega,” he repeated, starting in surprise when he realized that not only had he begun purring, but Barnes was leaning against the door so Clint and Darcy could feel the soft susurration of _his_ purring, too. His warm-safe-proud scent seeped around the edges of the door to mingle with theirs. “Thanks, Buck,” Clint murmured as Darcy rubbed her hands and cheeks everywhere she could deposit more content-safe-horny omega scent.

“Ain’t exactly a hardship,” came the quiet response. “She’s a real pretty little dame. Stevie’s been making them cow’s eyes at ‘er so long without workin’ up the nerve to court, I worried I might never get the chance to meet ‘er myself.”

“He needs some hand-holding, too,” Clint sighed, thumping his head against the door gently. “I realize he’s only courted once before—”

“Twice. I think he might’a actually got as far as talking about courting with Peg ‘cause she brought it up herself. Always was a good beta that way, savin’ him from feelin’ out of his depth. Though I ain’t sure you’d call what me and him did courtin’ as kids. We were always in each other’s pockets. That’s just the way the wind blew right from the beginnin’.”

“You’ve courted the normal way, too, though, right?” Clint checked. “Because I know things are different between you and me and Nat and Steve than they’d be in normal packs, too.”

A gusty sigh answered. “Yeah. Been a while for me, too, I guess, with how Nat and Steve brought me home like something the cat dragged in and you and Phil just sort of accepted that was a thing that happens, that sometimes your denning partners bring home injured assassins wearing their bondmarks.” He chuckled. “Come to think of it, I owe you some proper courtin’, too, Hawk.”

“Naw, it’s fine.” It was. Bucky designed Clint’s favorite limited range, exploding arrows and gave him his favorite knife for Christmas, and made him a garrote from piano wire he swiped fair and square from some dead Hydra muckity muck’s super fancy safehouse. Bucky’d been courting Clint all along the only way he knew how. It suited Clint just fine.

“But if I wanted you to wear my bondmark?” Buck asked, breath blooming hot through the seam between the door and the jamb.

“You want me to play a little hard to get? Make it more fun?” Clint leered at the sliver of space separating them.

“Hell no; I know you’re easy,” Buck teased back with an amused snort. “But say I wanted to mark up that pretty neck a’yours with a bondmark and I had an old pal who was shit at courtin’ omegas and gammas who could maybe learn a thing or two from watchin’ how it’s done? Be doin’ me and him a real favor, too. I mean, I wouldn’t wanna lead a fella on, you know, so I’d only do it if you’d— _he’d_ wear my mark like my other bondmates after a timely courting,” Bucky teased, but Clint heard the way he held his breath at the very end, the way the laughter cut off sharply.

Clint held his for a few humming seconds, too, then expelled it hard, forcing his warmed breath through the crack.

“I wouldn’t say no to you marking up my neck right now and you know it.” Clint growled and Darcy shivered in his arms. Straining against his zipper, his dick twitched with impatience.

“After I court ya proper, sure,” Buck rejoined easily.

“You already have!” Clit hissed, readjusting Darcy in his lap as he slid to the floor to wait for the doctor. “The exploding arrows are, hands down, the best courting gift anyone has given in the history of ever, for starters. You could court a whole harem of gamma archers with those. And the knife you gave me for Christmas holds an edge sharp enough to split _atoms_.”

Buck sighed. “All I give you is weapons? _Shit._ ”

“I like weapons!”

“I know. I seen what you did with that nesting box Stark built for ya. S’why you’re down the hall in your spare den now, right?”

“That nesting box was always going to be a better weapons storage closet and you know it.”

“You’re part magpie, Hawk. Admit it. Of course you filled your nest with weapons. Dollars to donuts says there’s no less than three hundred arrows in that nesting box, too.”

“I _like_ arrows,” Clint humphed. He would have crossed his arms like a petty brat, too, but Darcy was there, snoring softly.

“You like dogs, too, but you ain’t put none in your nest yet.”

“Lucky sleeps in my nest all the time!”

“Lucky eats pizza like he's never even _heard_ of dog kibble and gets the gas so bad, he only ends up in your nest ‘cause his butt wore out his welcome everywhere else in the pack’s quarters,” Bucky chuckled and Clint felt his shoulders shake with mirth through the door.

Clint snorted, but refused to let Bucky win this round. “It's not his fault. He has an _intestinal_ problem.”

“Yeah, sure. More like a neurological problem, since the dumb shit won’t listen when everybody tells him marinara ain’t good for him, but then the furry little asshole understands English and Russian well enough when you tell him it’s time for a bath and he beats you to the bathroom by five minutes and turns on the towel warmer while he waits, even though he ain't even got thumbs to turn the knob.”

“He likes bubbles in _every_ language, and a warm towel for his butt, obviously,” Clint said, shaking his head as a wave of drowsiness slipped over him.

_Darcy._

“I think she’s…” He blinked, struggling to keep his eyes open as she drew his focus back to her and her needs. Her _desires_. “Dreamin’, maybe. Just got hit with a big, sleepy pheromone whammy.” The sleepy wave ebbed and was replaced immediately by a good, strong blast of horny omega feelings. Clint gasped and tried to let it wash over and through him, but the sharp desire to _present_ was unmistakable.

Darcy wanted a knot.

Clint panted through it, trying his best to ignore the sudden ache in his ass and the slick coating his boxers.

“Buck…” Clint laid his head back on the door. “She must be havin’ an _awesome_ dream,” he groaned with wry humor.

“Why z’at?”

“I just soaked right through my BDUs with slick and I have an urge for a knot like you’d dream for a glass of water after three days lost in the desert. Fuck.” He trembled, tightening his hold on the omega. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Haven’t felt like this since I was fifteen,” he whined.

“It’s just ‘cause you’re alone with her without the rest of the pack to balance out her scent. Don’t fight it,” Bucky ordered. “Use it to take her emotional temperature. How is she doing right now? Focus on that, on being a good gamma for her, the very best you can be. You’re okay, Hawk. Tell me how she’s feeling. Talk through it.”

“She's... Horny as fuck, _unwell_ , if not outright sick, but warm, safe. She…” He exhaled, clearing his lungs and tasting the rich pheromone cocktail surrounding them in a sweet cloud of lust. “She feels like she did when we denned down in Puente Antiguo. She feels trust. She trusts me. To take care of her. Certainty. She’s sure she’s where she’s supposed to be. Safe here.” He sniffed the air around her head and hands, sorting more easily through the layers of scent than should have been possible.

“That sounds pretty damn good, Hawk,” Bucky assured him. “Sounds like you done real good.”

“Need a knot,” Clint admitted, whining for his beta and shifting uncomfortably under Darcy's slight weight. “It’s... Feels like there’s no ... no water. Like. Thirst. Need it. A bellyful of it. Need a knot.”

“That’s her pumping the den full of _her_ needs. Give her hindbrain some of that back. Think about what _you_ need, Gamma.”

“Need her safe.” Clint’s lashes fluttered and his arms flexed around the omega in his lap. “Wanna introduce her properly to my mates, invite her to den with us. Wanna take the _best_ care of her.” He rumbled, low and full of dark promise, “Wanna share Steve’s and Nat’s knots, slide her down over their knots until she cries in relief. Wanna den down with her again, hold her real close and lay in a pile like pups while we watch Saturday morning cartoons and late night game shows. Wanna feed her back up. She always had the prettiest curves, Buck. Back in New Mexico,” he rambled. “She hasn’t been eating enough.”

“Think real hard about those things: safety, courting and sharing your mates, dinner with the pack, and feeding her in your nest, baby; paint her hindbrain a real good picture with your scent, show her how good you’ll be for her, sunshine.”

“Yeah,” Clint whispered, slumping to the floor on his side, curled around Darcy as his glands swelled and itched with the fresh well of oily scent beading to the surface.

“I’ve made a deal with Jarvis, Hawk,” Bucky murmured as Clint struggled to keep cranking out waves of scent to overwhelm her when her drowsy sleepiness and desire threatened to pull him under with her. “He’ll only open the door here for Cho if the Alphas head down to the TV room or leave the pack's quarters altogether for a bit, so they’ll cooperate when they get back. Mean time, hold your girl. Keep talkin’ to her with your scent, sunshine. Help is on the way. Just gotta hold on a bit longer.”

“Yeah.” Clint swallowed and lifted a shaking hand to comb through Darcy’s wild curls. “ _Soon_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the previous author notes about not harassing me for updates still apply! Be cool in the comments if you want me to be cool back! If you’re rude and request/demand/suggest more frequent updates, the same applies. See how this works? ;D The Golden Rule is great!


	5. Clinterlude, continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zephrbabe very graciously pre-read this, but it's unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine, mine, mine.
> 
> Edited to add: the title of this story was updated on 11/7/2018 to more accurately reflect the extension of the story beyond the one-shot, Hot Toddy. After Chapter 6, all update notifications will appear under the title, “Contact”.
> 
> Suggested listening: Hold My Girl by George Ezra (This one song fueled a lot of this fic!, but if you're into the Clint/Bucky feels, too, you should check out Shotgun, also by George Ezra. He's my new muse.)

“Hey, Hawk… I know it’s real hard right now on your own, but you gotta get that sick little lady over to the nest, sunshine. Come on, talk to me.”

Clint blinked and his eyes focused on the back of someone’s head. He inhaled, sifting soft curls through his fingers.

_Darcy._

They’d dozed off in the spare den, just inside the door.

They were okay. Maybe not the most comfortable, but he could still fix that.

“Cho’s been stalling Stevie and Nat to buy you some time, but she’s about at the end of her patience with those two prowling around Medical, stinkin’ the place up with sympathy rut funk and drivin’ most of her second shift gamma staff out the door for an early dinner. She’s not real happy settling for updates on Darcy from _me_ , either. Here.” Something thin and clear slipped under the door. “Phil said Potts sent it over. It’s a StarkTech prototype, some kinda all-glass tablet—only thing thin enough in the whole tower to shove under this door.”

“I’ll— I gotta—” Clint shook his head to clear the cobwebs and glanced from the tablet to Darcy.

“Get your omega over to the nest first, sunshine. The tablet’ll keep,” Bucky crooned through the door. “One step at a time, okay?”

“Yeah,” Clint breathed, struggling to sit up. He took a couple breaths to get his bearings and rose to one knee, the better to lift Darcy without straining his ribs and back too hard. He stumbled, a little unsteady at first, but the bed piled high with old favorite nesting blankets and pillows wasn’t far. He had her settled quickly and returned to scoop up the tablet. “Jarvis.” He blinked at the surface when it automatically lit up. “Let’s set this thing up so it only comes on when someone inside the nest deliberately activates it or in the event of a building-wide emergency from now on, ‘kay?”

“Of course, Agent Barton. My apologies. This unit is still default set for testing parameters on units that will prompt new users automatically. The changes have now been made. Sir is manufacturing a further eight additional units this evening to deliver to your pack for testing. The units are yours, however. Only operational data will be saved for a testing period of thirty days. They are yours to keep and can be programmed with traditional tower privacy protocols or Agent Romanova’s latest privacy protocol addendum, as each of you sees fit.”

“Thanks, Jarvis. Tell Tony and Pepper ‘thanks’, too.”

“These units comprise a small portion of a package of recompense to be provided to the omega, Miss Darcy Lewis, and her platonic packmates, on behalf of Stark International. A less formal verbal apology has also been extended by Sir and Miss Potts. Details of the arrangements Ms. Potts is organizing can be found on this unit provided in the interim for yourself and for Miss Lewis.”

Clint wasn’t quite prepared to unpack all of that and dig for deeper meaning. He took the explanation at face value and applied his thumb print and voice authorization code to reactivate the glass tablet, flipping it easily in his hand to turn the dot he presumed was a camera on Darcy to record a quick video and use the medical scanning information provided silently by Jarvis across the bottom of the screen.

“Thank you, Agent Barton,” Jarvis’ voice dropped to a whisper in deference to the nesting omega on the bed. “Dr. Cho is reviewing the scans, but she’s already ordered a meal from the in-house nutritionist prepared and delivered this evening based on Miss Lewis’s significant change in weight and bone density since her intake interview when she arrived at the tower some eleven weeks ago.”

“That bad, huh?” Clint grimaced, tapping the tablet and requesting access to review the results himself as her only acknowledged denning partner at present. “Shit,” he cursed when comparing her current weight to just eleven weeks ago. A seventeen pound loss? “Did she lose her appetite altogether?” he grumbled as Jarvis displayed overlapping images comparing the marked difference in her stature as well as chemical formulae comparing the condition of her body chemistry, pheromone levels, and composition of hair, nails, and skin at present to the recordings captured during her brief intake interview.

“What z’at?” Bucky asked through the door.

“She’s dropped almost twenty pounds since the move to the tower. Bone scan shows she’s lost mass _and_ density, especially in the last six weeks,” Clint dutifully reported, frowning at her heart rate and blood pressure readings, too. Even her resting body temperature was running nearly five degrees too cold for an omega of childbearing age on suppressants. “Her temp is dangerously low, too, on top of everything else. Says here Cho and the nutritionist are working on it. Some kind of nutrient-packed dinner to increase her metabolism and raise her temp should be delivered shortly, according to Jarvis. Hey Buck, when it gets here, ask the nutritionist if the matzo ball soup we made will be enough for lunch tomorrow, or if we’ll need to supplement meals after this one they’re delivering in a bit. Jarvis can give the nutrition specialist the recipe and let them figure it out from there, I think.”

“On it,” he replied. Clint heard the telltale click of a metal thumb tapping out questions and instructions on a StarkPhone in the hall and he breathed a sigh of relief when he realized Bucky meant to stay put the next little while. “Go fluff your nest,” the beta ordered over his shoulder through the locked door. “If her temp is still this low after a nap with a gamma runs hot as you, she’s gonna need all the nesting she can get. You want more blankets delivered?”

“I got a couple polar-rated nesting rolls in the closet in here; I think we’re pretty well set except for pre-heat snacks and bottled water,” he said, flicking open a flat sheet to put a layer between Darcy and all the sweat-inducing blankets he was about to pile on top of and around her. “Better to use all that Service Alpha energy to get them to set up a more long term solution than my spare den. That nesting box between the jack and jill dens in Steve’s quarters near you and Nat would be ideal. She seemed pretty warm for his form downstairs, and she’s been doing her own pining over Steve the last few weeks, too, I noticed. I feel safe making that call, at least. Worst case scenario: we move the stuff to another den or the nesting box off Nat’s master den if we have to.”

“ ‘kay,” came the quiet agreement through the door. Then, a minute later, “Hawk?”

“Yeah?”

“Hate to be indelicate, but you got some kinda toys in there you can use, ‘case she needs a knot to settle her hindbrain a while?” he said in the lowest register Clint’s hearing aids could still pick up.

Clint glanced at the linen closet beside the door to the small guest bath. “Yeah— I. Yeah. Might not be exactly what she’d choose for herself, but I’ve got some basics here that’ll do if they have to. Wish she could handle a hot bath right now, but—”

“Hey, you pick your battles. There’s time for a proper pre-heat bath later. And she _is_ still in pre-heat. Cho says she might even linger in pre-heat for up to a week til the cold and skinthirst breaks.” He cleared his throat. “You mind me shopping for a few more toys and heat bath stuff just for her? We could make it a gift from just you, if you think that’d make her more comfortable, or a few courting things from each of us, or whatever.”

“She’ll probably be overwhelmed no matter what,” Clint admitted. “I gave her a heat basket in New Mexico once, before one of her really mild heats, and I had to convince her to take it. Said it was too much, but it was just a basic little thing I picked up at the BX so I’d have _something_ to give her the first time I partnered her, you know? I was ten minutes off-mission and swung by quick because she sent me a text to see if I’d be available to pair up through her short heat weekend.” Thinking about her arguing over accepting the little heat basket made his heart hurt. “I don’t think she’d ever been given a heat partner gift before.”

“Foster is getting a long, scathing email when she pops back into this dimension, pal,” Bucky growled, tapping his phone screen with more force than was probably advisable with an angry, Vibranium thumb. “And I know for sure Hill is working on a PowerPoint for Thor to cover all the shit Foster missed.” The tapping suddenly stopped. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight. “I emergency-partnered a gamma neighbor and her omega bondmate during my time alone in Bucharest a few years back. The omega had this toy that simulated an Alpha’s e-pulse after knotting. All but climbed the walls for it. We’ve kept in touch. Thought I might give them a call, see if they can tell me where to find one a’those toys for your girl. Got a stack of heat-soft flannel blankets and washed silk body shawls on this here order, too,” he continued, fingers tap-tapping again.

Clint oohed, “Yeah, yeah, those super soft, silk cocoon shawls are awesome. Wish I’d thought to keep one of those in here.”

“I can get one delivered from a boutique in Midtown in an hour or so. Maybe less if I send one of our guys over.”

“An omega, though,” Clint warned. “I don’t want any competing dominant- or pack-stink on anything Darcy’s gonna touch this week. Toss it in the wash before you bring it up if you have to.”

“Will do.” The door flexed and Clint knew just where that put Bucky’s head. He sat by the door for a second and pressed back against Bucky’s weight with his temple.

“I picked out an omega orchid, too. A purple and blue one. It’ll be here later tonight,” Bucky confessed.

“Aw, Buck, she’ll love that.”

“You think?”

“Something bright and colorful for her nest that won’t stink the place up with confusing scents? Yeah. She’ll wanna put it in a lime green pot and name it Violet the Reluctant Orchid or something.” Now that Clint thought about it… “I’m pretty sure she still has Pokey Sticks the Fugly Cactus. We should grab that if someone’s going over to her place to pack a bag.”

“ _Pokey Sticks the Fugly Cactus_ ,” Bucky repeated with a snicker as his fingers tapped to add it to his list. “You think of anything else, lemme know. I’m gonna run point from here so no knotheads get any bright ideas to _help_ before Darcy’s ready for company again. You go on, nest a while, see if you can’t do something about her temp. I’ll bring in dinner and Cho when they come up.”

“ ‘kay.” Clint didn't bother to stand up, just monkey-crawled across the thick carpet and climbed into the small space he’d left for himself to curl around the omega buried there. He pulled the thick, blackout drapes closed around the nest and hummed happily at the dark-small-close feeling it gave him. Inside the nest, a curl of Darcy’s hair spilled from under a pile of ratty, flannel-backed quilts leftover from the days when his nesting supplies had to live in a circus trunk full time. (Except on the rare occasion when they were in use and he’d hole up in the back of a heavily curtained station wagon or one of the more understanding omega Romani Traveler wagons that accompanied the circus’ typical RVs and pop-ups from town to town.) Being on the more dominant end of the gamma spectrum, Clint had what one specialist had termed heat-ruts as a teen, until they sorted him out with the right suppressants and birth control to keep them under wraps. Heat-rut was a miserable time for Clint at fifteen years old. Satisfaction, real satisfaction, could only be gained through finding two sympathetic partners or pairing up with a gamma or omega and using a knotting toy that would make even the most adventurous omegas blanch at the girth he needed to scratch his itches.

Puberty _sucked_.

And even though his circumstances improved significantly since adolescence, Clint counted himself lucky he’d managed to partner with and bondmark serum-enhanced mates almost exclusively (Phil being the exception, but Phil didn’t really heat-partner often, either, as a demi-beta). They liked to joke the serum enhanced everything. Thank fuck, honestly. Clint hadn’t been forced to use one of the special-ordered, oversized knotting toys in a couple years.

He really, really hoped he had something in the heat supply closet that wouldn’t scar Darcy emotionally for life, he thought with a wry snort of amusement.

Adventurous little thing, though, he remembered. She’d try it anyway.

They dozed a while, off and on, and Clint smiled when delicate fingertips started kneading at his middle.

“Stevie and Nataliya are buying Midtown out of heat shawls and nesting supplies and courting gifts, to hear Phil and Hill tell it,” Bucky reported when the tablet dinged and Clint opened it up to chat with his beta partner. “Something about bookcases came up when I mentioned Pokey Sticks the Fugly Cactus. From what I gather, someone was sent to fetch a few items to kit out the jill half of Stevie’s master den suite. Pillows and bedding, and denning covers, and the like. Books, another plant or two—”

“Board games. She loves board games and playing cards. Music, fiber craft stuff, baby animals, twinkle lights...” Clint murmured, his belly flipping gently when Darcy continued to knead it and ramp up his own desire instead of sharing hers for once.

“You doin’ okay?” Bucky checked when Clint’s face warmed with embarrassment and he hoped the lighting was bad enough for the camera to miss how the heat crawled down his neck.

“She’s kneading my belly and I’ve got a really unhelpful, permanent boner. I’m awesome, thanks.”

Bucky threw his head back and laughed on screen, but when the laughter faded, his brow furrowed in thought. “Huh. Stevie mentioned her kneading his belly, too. I looked it up, but no one knows for sure why some omegas do it. There’s theories… It’s a rare omega trait, anyhow, some atavistic leftover from nursing right after whelping in caves or what have you. It’s probably not important.” Bucky shrugged. “We can ask Cho, though. She’s threatening to barge in here with a tool kit to take the door off its hinges herself if Darcy doesn’t wake soon on her own for a consultation.”

Before Clint could reply, Darcy shoved Clint’s shirt up and wrapped her lips around his nipple with an unomegalike grunt.

“Uh…” Clint glanced down at her sweet, sleeping face, working her tongue around his nipple. She kneaded his chest rhythmically and suckled at his nipple firmly enough to make him uncomfortable. “Ouch, Darce!” he yelped when she nipped him gently and let go, dragging her tongue down his ribs and tracing his torso with both hands. “Um.” His eyes widened when her hands tugged at his belt. “Uh, Buck…”

On screen, Bucky watched with wide eyes, too, but removed enough to see what Clint was perhaps too close to catch onto. “Your pants. They’re BDUs. Too rough. I bet she wants skin-to-skin contact. She’s still suffering skinthirst so bad, she probably can’t stand the feel of anything rough or unnatural on her skin right now.” He waited a beat for Clint to do something. “Hawk, get rid of your pants,” he ordered with sharp impatience for his slow gamma.

Clint scrambled to do as he was told, silently berating himself for leaving them on in the first place. Of course she’d want them off. He shucked both pants and ruined boxers gladly, pulling Darcy close and tugging Steve’s shirt over her head, too, to feed her as much skin-to-skin contact as she could handle.

When her attention then switched immediately to his dick, he sighed.

“What?”

“She’s…” He looked helplessly at his partner, then back down at his crotch.

“Oh. _Oh!_ ” Bucky turned red, but dropped his voice respectfully to a whisper, “She, uh, still needs a knot, I think, pal. But on the upside, you’re alone, so she won’t be embarrassed about it later, and it should satisfy her hindbrain enough to let her rest once she’s locked on a knot and been held a good while. You want me to check with Cho? She said this might happen, but—”

“Yeah, just confirm that we tried other, nonintercourse means first. I want it all documented and clear that we went by the book and adhered to Darcy’s wishes from her consent forms.”

“I’ll step away down the end of the hall to make the call now. There’s a basket out here, might help ya out some, if you’re willin’ to risk poppin’ the door open a minute.”

“Steve and Tash?” Clint checked.

“Hill and Phil are ridin’ herd on ‘em at a tree nursery out in Red Hook next. Guess they wanna do up somethin’ special on the dining terrace outside that den Stevie’s makin’ up for ‘er.”

“Okay, but we’ll need one of them back here tonight. They can’t actually keep fluffing her new nest until she’s coherent. She’s going to need Alpha contact again soon.”

“Potts has offered, if we end up in a pinch, but it won’t come to that. I got a gamma medic tailin’ ‘em in a quinjet in case they need to get back here in a hurry.”

“You think of everything.” Clint smiled fondly at his beta.

“Strategy.” He winked. “It’s why they pay me the big bucks these days.”

Darcy chose that moment to switch from kneading ineffectually all over Clint’s lower belly and groin to wrapping her hand and mouth around his leaking dick.

“Fuck!” he yelped (softly, so he wouldn’t scare her). He panted and cast a longing gaze at the tablet before switching his attention: “Jarvis?” He closed his eyes.

“Agent Barton?” The A.I. chimed quietly in return.

“Bucky’s right outside the door. He’s got a basket of stuff I’m gonna need for Darce and I can’t go get it myself right now, so here’s what we’re gonna do…”

A minute later, Jarvis swung the door open and Bucky leaned in to pitch the necessities from the heat partner basket he bought right into the nest between the blackout curtains. Clint fielded them pretty easily, considering Darcy had her mouth around him, sucking like she was trying to pull a ping pong ball through a hundred feet of garden hose. He tucked everything away in the edges of the nest while Bucky edged forward, stopping to sniff and check himself and his response with every step. He dropped a stack of some other necessities within arm's reach of the bed, and backed out as quickly and quietly (and scentlessly) as he’d come, throwing a quick “okay” sign up as the door swung to.

“Thanks,” Clint called out as Bucky’s footsteps retreated to give them a little privacy while maintaining his watch.

“No need, but Hawk?”

“Yeah?”

“It ain’t a chore, bein’ asked to heat-partner someone you care about in an emergency. Remember that, okay? She trusted you enough to _keep_ your name on that consent form. Trust that she meant it and treat it like the gift of trust and friendship it is. She deserves some good lovin’ after all she’s been through and, from the sound of it, you might be the only one who’s ever shown her that before. Remind her why she chose you to partner her and try to have some fun yourself, instead of just steamrolling ahead with duty on your forebrain,” he reminded his gamma. He raised his voice then, “Jarvis, enact heat-rut privacy protocols for Omega Darcy Lewis under the care of her Gamma, Agent Clint Barton, effectively immediately. No visitors and no incoming calls, texts, or messages until they give the word, except under Code Blue emergency conditions.” He barked out the numbers of his Avenger authorization code and silence descended over the den as the beta moved away to make his call.

Clint closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, exercising every ounce of control at his disposal, he reached for the lube and new toy he stashed under the pillows by his head as Darcy did her level best to swallow him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I sound like a broken record, but writing this fic is therapeutic for me and working through my anxiety. Please don't make this story something I have to avoid for my own peace of mind by using the comment section to hint at, suggest, request, or demand that I update soon. I'll update when I need to work on this fic _for myself_ and, when I share updates, I deeply appreciate everyone who understands that and shows up with love, support, and encouragement in the comments.


	6. Enter Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the title change now that this is a longfic in progress! I’ve temporarily subtitled it for this update, but all future updates will appear under the title “Contact” for this story. Also, please bear in mind, this story is tagged ‘slow burn’ and ‘consent is sexy’. ‘Consent’ being the operative word here.
> 
> Unbeta'd, so please forgive any typos! I wanted to post today, but I only finished this about a minute ago. XD
> 
> See end note for trigger warning.
> 
> Suggested listening: “Take Me Home” by Jess Glynne

A rippling snarl was the first sign something changed in Darcy’s state of mind.

Dr. Cho tried calling out again from the hallway, “Miss Lewis? Agent Barton? I really need to examine Darcy now.”

That same threatening snarl had Clint scrambling to cover the omega beneath him, pinning her to the bolster propping up her hips while he partnered her through a contact high-induced, hindbrain regressive episode (according to the doc). Things had been going so well, too.

Clint knew Darcy fairly well for an occasional heat partner, having partnered her through half a dozen heats in the desert. He’d also gratefully accepted her help through seven of his own unusually intense heat-ruts the same year when he was forced to be apart from his mates for much longer than usual in New Mexico. And never, in all the times they’d nested together, had he heard Darcy growl or snarl or show the least bit of territorial aggression except on the rare occasions when S.H.I.E.L.D. overstepped in the lab and Darcy took offense on her beta, Dr. Foster’s behalf.

“Darce,” he panted against her arterial scent glands, rocking his pelvis against the slick cradle of her hips. He pressed himself into the knotting dildo he’d been forced to use to try to coax her back into her forebrain. He made the mistake of thinking they were almost out of the woods too soon, he guessed.

Right up until Dr. Cho intruded on Darcy’s warm, nested happy space, and Darcy decided to become a stereotypically territorial omega for the first time in _ever_.

“Um, maybe not right now, Doc!” Clint called back. Beneath him, Darcy’s chest rumbled, a low, continuous threat intended to warn off the stranger trying to intrude on her den.

With a silent apology for the transgression he was about to commit against a friend and hoping like hell he’d be forgiven later, Clint nosed aside Darcy’s tangled curls and pressed his teeth into her neck. Gently, he cradled her spine between his teeth and scruffed her like a misbehaving kit. Beneath him, the rumbling threat immediately ceased and Darcy slumped in submission.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he chuffed against her skin between parted teeth. God, he hated this. He had to do it to Nat once when she first came in years ago and it broke his heart then, too, to _force_ her to submit, even for a moment, until her forebrain elbowed its way to the forefront again. Fuck, he hated it—hated himself, but there was no other way. If she escalated from posturing and acted on the perceived threat, there’d be no way to keep a feral omega from ripping out the throats of everyone out in the hall with her teeth if she felt the sanctity of her nest had been violated. He closed his eyes against the self-loathing and distress the action wrought in him, though, doing his best to pump out nothing but safe, warm, gamma scent. He wanted her to recognize ‘denmate’, not ‘forced submission’, and never _ever_ ‘distress’ at his touch. He knew exactly how precarious that balance could be, too—that how she _perceived_ his hold on her could be entirely determined by the scent he put out as a result of the intimacy of subduing her with his teeth.

“Hawk?” Bucky’s voice sounded close, on edge, right outside the door. He drummed his fingers below the doorknob, their pack’s quiet signal to ask permission to enter the closed door to a nest or den.

But Clint had his teeth in his omega’s neck and everything was suddenly tits up. If he and Buck were bonded, he could have pushed his feelings of need and gamma inadequacy through their bond, but he was on his own here. And even as an interdynamic gamma, putting his teeth in anyone’s neck to scruff them just felt fucking _wrong_. He hated it.

“Clint…” Darcy inhaled, still limp beneath him, lungs expanding with his scent. She breathed deeply rather than panting, though, which he could only hope was a good sign. “Clint,” she confirmed, scenting the air carefully without giving him cause to do something stupid like shake her as some Alphas would have.

Like the Swordsman, who pulled this same awful shit on him when he—

“Hawk, answer me!” Bucky drummed harder beneath the doorknob.

Clint swallowed and exhaled, loosening the press of his top teeth to switch positions and press the fingertips of his bow hand into Darcy’s throat, mimicking a dominant’s bite.

With his bottom teeth still pressed to one side her spine, he rasped, “Tell me you’re back, Darce, please, please.” He begged, raising goosebumps on her neck with the gust of air that accompanied each plea. “Please, please, please.”

“Cliiint…” she groaned into the covers.

“Right here, honey,” Clint assured her, covering his teeth with his lips and sighing in relief as he withdrew from her neck with extra care. He stretched out and up again to lick wide, intentional stripes over her arterial gland in silent apology. He exhaled through his nose to concentrate their combined scents as close to her face as he could reach. When Darcy rumbled happily, ratcheting down her sudden flair of territorial omega rage to a content purr for her denmate, Clint finally relaxed, pressing his face into her hair on a shaky exhale.

“Clint.” She blinked and inhaled deeply, sinking into the bolsters and cushions arranged around her body to support her in position to present comfortably. Her hips shifted, testing the weight of the gamma draped over her back. When her legs parted and her back curved lower into a truly beautiful presentation arch, Clint knew she’d finally noticed the welcome ache of the knotting dildo buried between her legs. “Wha’ happen?” she mumbled, but the question ended on a wanton moan.

“Shh, I got you, Darce,” Clint reminded her.

“Sgt. Barnes, I really have to insist—” someone demanded out in the hall.

Beneath him, Darcy started in surprise, twisting to cast the door a wide-eyed look like prey caught in the hunter’s gaze when another sharp, staccato series of three fingertip knocks sounded.

“It’s just Buck,” Clint tried to reassure his panicky omega. “If you give the okay for him to heat-partner you with me, he’ll come back in. Please tell me you’re okay with that,” he begged, trembling slightly with the effort of trying to subdue her in a way that felt ‘right’ and ‘safe’, and not even a little bit like ‘trapped’. “The doc’s gonna need verbal confirmation, though. Can you do that, Darce?”

She remained silent for a few long moments, just breathing and feeling out the small, enclosed space inside Clint’s nest, darkened almost completely with the blackout drapes.

“We’re in my nest, honey,” Clint reminded her as her thick, sweet scent triggered his desire to shelter and cuddle and _fuck_ until his ears bled and his brains dribbled out like soup. “You’re safe here. Doc says you’re having a ‘contact high-induced, hindbrain regressive episode’. It happens sometimes to pack-denied, skinthirsty omegas recovery-nesting with multiple partners. You were real sick, Darce, and your body decided it was prime time for a pre-heat to attract an Alpha to help you get better,” Clint admitted with a shudder, feeling an aggressive rumble of his own begin low and climb up the back of his throat in a growl to match Darcy’s dainty snarl at the idea of just any Alpha and not _his_ Alphas, _his_ beta, _himself_ , partnering her in her compromised condition. “You did nothing wrong, honey. It happens. Doc wants to examine you, though,” he grumbled, struggling to push down the urge to bury Darcy under his bulk and hide her in the nest from everyone but his own denmates.

“Gimme that; everybody out,” Buck growled at whoever else had taken up residence in the hall. Reluctantly, several sets of footsteps retreated at least as far as the end of the hall.

“Clint? Darcy?” Bucky’s voice came through the door, along with a thick surge of beta-safe scent through the cracks. “I sent ‘em away. May I enter your den, gamma, omega?”

“He really wants to heat-partner me?” Darcy questioned Clint over her shoulder.

“Yeah, honey. Nat and Steve, too.” Clint sat back on his heels and rearranged Darcy in the cushions into an omega recovery position to support knotting pairs and then laid behind her to give her the sensation of an Alpha or beta embracing her while she was tied to the dummy knot. “And I’m starting to think we’re really gonna need 'em, if you’re suddenly nest-aggressive.”

“I’m not!”

“You just growled at Doc Cho because she knocked, Darce.”

“Don’t _want_ just anyone in my nest, though,” Darcy whined, folding her arms over her middle with a shiver and bucking her hips in an effort to encourage him to knot her again, despite already being locked on the kind of knot Clint could never give her. “Just _pack_.”

“I don’t really want anyone in here, either,” Clint admitted with a sigh, carefully snuffling over her hair and throat, and taking advantage of his position to huff lots of calming gamma scent all over his omega, filling the nest with his own calmer scent to balance hers and overwhelming her protests. “But the doc says you’re malnourished and dehydrated, honey. One of the test results made it look like you might be anemic, Darce. You need that meal the doc brought up and you _need_ to see the doc.”

She shook her head, whining helplessly. “No, _please_. I’ll be good,” she begged, circling her hips in his lap.

“Aw, Darce, no. You _are_ good, my good omega. You’re already a good girl for me, the best omega,” he praised her as frustrated tears soaked her cheeks. The last thing he wanted to do was take away the one place she felt safe right now. “How about this?” he bargained. “How about Bucky brings in the food?”

“Just food?” she checked, and he heard her trying to curb the instinct to whine. She really was a good omega. He told her so again, assuring her Bucky would just bring the food if they ask, and they could come up with another solution for her to see the doc.

Out in the hall, he overheard a heated discussion between Bucky and whoever accompanied the doctor, snarling from the end of the long hall to the pack’s common quarters.

“I can’t let you go in there!” someone who wasn’t the doctor insisted. “Miss Lewis hasn’t changed her consent permissions. If she’s aggressive and posturing, protecting her nest and a denmate, it’s even more essential that we respect her pre-established boundaries!”

“But she needs to _eat_ ,” another voice interjected—Bucky’s. “There was no time to lay in proper pre-heat supplies, not even enough proper nest bedding. ”

“He can come in—just— just him, though,” Darcy was quick to add, biting her lower lip.

“To heat-partner you?” Clint checked to be sure.

Darcy nodded.

“I’m sorry, Darce—I know it’s hard right now, but the doc can’t accept anything less than enthusiastic consent to make a verbal addendum to your consent permission forms.” Clint petted and soothed her, trying to make everything okay, or as okay as he could.

Softly, she called out, “You may enter, beta.” Then, quickly and clearly, “Bucky? You may enter. I— I accept your offer to emergency partner me with Clint.”

“You get that, Doc?” Bucky checked, laying a hand on the doorknob and making it rattle.

Someone murmured at the end of the hall.

“Do what I can. No promises, though.” The door swung open and shut just as quickly behind him as Bucky swept into the space and yanked the T-shirt he wore over his head, easily managing not to drop a tray laden with omega delicacies designed to get them to eat even during a mind blowing heat. Bucky knelt beside the nest and offered both the shirt covered in his scent and the tray.

“I’m yours if you’ll have me, doll.” Bucky tipped up his chin. Baring his throat, he waited.

Clint held his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Clint very briefly subdues Darcy by scruffing her like a kitten in this chapter. Just a gentle hold of teeth over her spine, done to keep her from going feral and hurting someone. He apologizes and she'll forgive him.


	7. Doctor, Packmate, Pilot ... Princess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This makes four updates—FOUR—in the past 8 days. I am on a ROLL, folks. I really, really hope the frequent updates are more ‘good surprise’ than too frequent for y’all to catch up. It’s been a stressy week and I’ve been pulling out all the good coping mechs for my anxiety—burning yummy candles, sitting all but on top of my himalayan salt lamp, extra cuddling with the hubs, reorganizing my makeup collection, and writing. LOTS of writing.
> 
> Pre-read by Zephrbabe, but edited since, so all remaining errors are on me.
> 
> Suggested listening: (still riding the Jess Glynne, “Take Me Home” wave of feels)
> 
> What you need to know: [indlwane](https://xhosa.english-dictionary.help/english-to-xhosa-meaning-nest)

Clint waited with bated breath while Darcy eyed their new denmate, trying to decide between the scent offering and the food.

Both would be hard to resist for _any_ omega.

Then Bucky let the T-shirt slide down his wrist, showing Clint a particular device Clint knew he’d palmed from Tony’s workshop. A remote signal scrambler.

Darcy saw it, too, and hesitated. “Clint?” she whispered, unsure how to proceed.

“Stay put,” he whispered, mom-arming her with one hand while he leaned out of the nest as if to help himself to Bucky’s shirt. He nabbed the scrambler, too, depressing the button as he sat back and waited for the high whine to indicate it engaged.

When Darcy clapped her hands over her ears, Clint was already up and moving, throwing back the heavy blackout curtains and pulling go-bags from the top shelf of the closet.

“What’s happening?” Darcy hissed, flinching away from the light.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, babydoll,” Bucky grimaced, “but something’ shady’s goin’ on with Stark’s in-house doc out there. Cho? She either don’t know shit about omegas or somebody’s lyin’. Either way, she ain’t layin’ a hand on you if I got any say in it. Not after what she just tried to pull.”

He set the food tray down as Clint cleared the shelves in the nest’s closet and flipped each shelf up out of the way. In Bucky’s other hand, Clint spotted two auto-inject hypodermic needles when his fingers uncurled. Clint growled and shoved harder at the last stubborn shelf, and Bucky explained, “All that bluster by the doc and Potts’ real special omega advocate out in the hall was for show. The advocate wouldn’t let Jarvis lift the locks until I promised to come in here and tranq you and my boy ‘ _for everyone’s safety_ ’. Said it’s standard procedure now in cases of nest aggression.” He snorted, disgusted and deeply offended.

Then, he looked Darcy right in the eye and promised, “I will never do anything against your will. Lewis, but most especially, I will never drug you without your consent. You want me to poke you wi’ this so the doc can look you over, we’ll do that, but I don’t like the lyin’. Call me paranoid, but somethin’ _ain’t_ right here.”

Darcy looked to Clint for his take on the situation, trusting him in a way that shook him all the way down to the ground.

“He’s not wrong about being naturally paranoid,” Clint agreed with a strained smile, “but he’s right about the tranqs, too. Nest aggression isn’t _that_ unusual in omegas, especially new moms. And I’ve never heard of drugging an omega as a matter of course just to examine one who’s nest aggressive. That would just make them _more_ aggressive and put their denmates in danger when they wake up and realize their trust’s been violated. Darce.” He turned to her with pleading eyes. “Buck’s right. Something’s shady as fuck about this. I don’t wanna force you outta the nest, but … I’m not sure they’d let you stay in here much longer anyway if they’re escalating to deception over this and trying to turn your heat partners against you to do it. Buck was in the hall the whole time.” And yeah, Clint might have been a little panicky in the moment, but Buck _was_ there the whole time. “No one out there was in any _real_ danger with a super soldier here to contain you if I couldn’t. He’s right—we gotta go.”

“But _where_ will we go?” she asked, her voice small as she pulled Steve’s T-shirt out of the pile of cushions and hugged it to her chest. Her eyes looked too big in her pale face, ashen with fear.

“Coded out for an exfil,” Bucky explained, pulling his own shirt over her head and leaving her Steve’s to press to her face and drag in deep lungsful of prime Alpha. “Should be waiting for us at the pickup point to take us to a prearranged fallback location. Stevie and Nat will meet us on the way,” he promised. “And Clint will stay with you no matter what, doll. I’ll never willingly separate you from the one person you know you can trust. Okay, sweetheart?” he checked.

Pupils blown wide, the room suddenly reeked of the acrid scent of omega adrenaline and stress. But she nodded bravely and tried to climb to her feet.

“Uh oh, Clint, I can’t—” She stumbled like a baby giraffe, nearly falling out of the nest, unable to move easily while she was still tied to the dummy knot. Bucky caught her by both arms and helped her resettle, so Clint could elbow the last shelf up hard against the side of the closet and step aside. Bucky traded immediately, gathering up the go-bags Clint had prepared and making way for Clint to climb back into the nest to help Darcy deal with her problem.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, soothing her fears, stroking her from throat to elbow to cover her in more of his scent in case anyone in the hall was straining to scent for sudden changes in the room’s mood, “You’re safe with me and Buck. The adrenaline spike you just had should relax those muscles in a sec and we’ll take care of that problem of yours. I’m gonna carry you, honey, since your shoes are downstairs, and we’ll go through the door at the back of the closet and take the stairs behind it to another door that leads to an emergency jetpad. Nobody but our pack knows that stairway exists, so there won’t be anyone to stop us when our ride shows up. We’ll hop on whatever's waiting upstairs for us and go get Steve and Nat, okay?”

“What about Sam and Claire, and the others?” she fretted, dragging her fingertips through the scruff on his chin and kneading gently at his jaw.

Clint’s face split in an indulgent grin. God, that she could worry about his pack when _she_ was the one at most risk… “Sam’s an Avenger. And he’ll take care of Claire—not to worry. Everyone else is a trained agent, Darce. They _can_ take care of themselves. We’ve got plans for this sort of thing for a reason.” He stroked and patted and purred as Bucky shoved some of the nest bedding scented like Clint and Darcy into a large, spare duffel. Good call, Clint wanted to tell him, but Darcy needed all of his attention right now. It wasn’t but maybe thirty seconds later that she squirmed and nodded, and Clint was able to remove the knot and roll it up in a towel. He stuffed it in the duffel with the bedding and rose from the nest with Darcy cradled against his chest. “Let’s go. It won’t be long before Jarvis sounds the alarm that a scrambler’s in use. Somebody probably already knows.”

“Clint.” Darcy trembled and the bitterness of adrenaline coated the back of his throat again, but she buried her face in his shoulder as he stepped down and into a pair of drawstring pants in heat-soft cotton Bucky held out for him. Without even a peep or complaint at being forced out of her cozy nest after her brief show of aggression at the intrusion earlier, she held on tight to Clint, kneading hard at his neck and shoulder while Bucky wrapped her bottom half in another blanket scented like both of them and made damn sure Clint had a good hold of her before sending them ahead up the stairs. Darcy clung to him like a burr, trusting him in a way that made him feel like … like an Alpha, ten feet tall and fucking ... _invincible_. Clint tucked that thought away for now, though, to take it out later and turn it over in the quiet confines of their new nest.

Bucky followed them shortly after, tossing the go-bags ahead of him and rearranging the closet from the back side to camouflage their escape route as Clint bounded up the stairs three at a time, fueled by anger at being forced out of his perfectly good nest, at Darcy being forced out of the space she’d only _just goddamn claimed_.

When he got his hands on Stark, Clint fumed, he was going to rip him apart and set his interfering ass on fire if he had anything to do with this.

“Clint, no,” Darcy whispered, shivering.

He stumbled to a stop and nearly overbalanced. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Nest aggression.” Her lip wobbled somewhere between amused and dismayed, like she felt personally responsible for his threats. She petted his 5 o'clock shadow, scritching at a really good spot under his chin that made it hard to think in a straight line.

“But, Darce, it’s our _nest_. Nobody should be forcing us out of it with threats,” he growled. “Goddamn Stark. What kind of advocate pulls that shit?” he snarled, tempted to go back and put an arrow in everyone he crossed until he found out.

“Hawk...” Bucky warned from below as the stairwell filled with the scent of rising gamma fury.

Darcy rumbled in response to Clint's righteous anger on her behalf, closing her eyes and stroking her cheek along his stubbly jaw. “Dr. Cho’s not an omega specialist. She might have meant well, but we’ll go somewhere else, somewhere they can’t make us do anything we don’t want.” She purred and rubbed her head under Clint’s jaw, smoothing out his rough edges like a baker frosting a really … angry, violent cake.

“How do you feel about Europe?” Bucky asked as he passed them on the stairs at a quick clip and waited at the top for them to catch him up.

“London was okay, but I didn’t get to explore much,” Darcy confessed, rubbing her temple on Clint's shoulder until her hair parted enough to press an inch of her own skin to his. “Mostly, I ended up babysitting Sad Jane and Pantsless Erik until Dark Elves tried to wipe out all Light in the Nine Realms.”

Darcy looked from Bucky up to Clint and back again.

“Well, it’s no life and death battle with Dark Elves, but you’re about to see some of the best Europe’s got to offer, doll,” Bucky promised, popping the latch and swinging the door open to aim a wolfish grin at their packmate waiting patiently on the other side. “Phil.” Bucky nodded. “Everything alright?”

“Maria's got Steve and Natasha. Our pilot can fill you in on the rest.” Phil pointed across the hangar deck to something that looked like a quinjet as it appeared out of thin air and possibly a portal, but Clint was pretty sure it wasn’t a quinjet. A young, Black woman in a royal blue and gold mini dress with her long braids wrapped up in a complicated coronet atop her head waited at the base of a ramp as the jet hovered above the deck.

“Uncle!” the young woman called out with a wide grin.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but smiled back nonetheless.

“Princess Shuri of Wakanda,” Bucky explained as they made their way across the wind-swept deck. “She’s … _extended_ pack, my own personal doctor, only person in the world I trust to poke around in m’head these days. Hey,” he nodded in greeting as they approached the jet. “Wha’s zis about?” He tipped his chin to the ramp hovering inches above the deck.

“If I don’t land, I don’t need to ask for Stark’s permission,” she explained with cheeks full of dimples.

“Smart girl,” Bucky praised his ... niece? Clint wasn't exactly sure how that relationship worked.

Bucky held out an arm to steady Clint as they boarded, followed by Bucky and Phil as introductions were quickly made. Phil veered off to one side to have a word with a fierce-looking warrior in red armor, manning the station for what Clint thought looked most like the jet's weapons array. He'd never seen anything quite like it, though.

“I’ve arranged indlwane in a corner of the lounge. Enough room for six or so, easily, eight a bit snug.” The princess grimaced apologetically as she waved them toward a curtained alcove apportioned off of a larger lounge area.

“What?” Darcy turned in Clint’s arms to gaze around the inside of the jet in wide-eyed wonder. “What’s indlwane?”

“A Wakandan approximation for your word, ‘nest’,” the young woman explained. “I am sorry, Miss Lewis. I know it can hardly compare with—”

“No!” Darcy tried to reassure their host, but she got distracted rubbing on Clint’s scent glands and it came out kind of garbled, “It’s so … mmm… though’ful. Thank you, you royal highmiss. Or sould I call you doctor, Doctor?”

“‘Shuri’ is fine.” The princess laughed. “And we _are_ pack, of a sort, thanks to Uncle.” She nodded at Bucky with another teasing grin.

“White Wolf, yeah, yeah.” Bucky took the ribbing with good humor. “Let’s get outta here before Stark thinks to suit up and try to stop a Wakandan Royal Talon with diplomatic tags on the bumper.”

“I’d like to see him try,” the princess muttered darkly as she took the seat at the flight controls, crossed her arms and slowly lowered them out and away from her chest to accelerate away from the tower. She twisted and leaned, and the Talon moved with the motion of her body.

“Holy zhit, that’z zo cool,” Darcy slurred as Clint parted the curtains to carry her into the nest and Bucky snapped the coverings closed behind them, instantly blotting out all external light and sound like a snap of fingers. “Oh,” Darcy exhaled with relief as the dark closeness blanketed them like Clint and Steve pressing her flat into the nest. “This is lovely,” she cooed, sounding floaty and dreamy within moments of darkness descending on their trio.

Clint chuckled and laid her down in a round, gel-cushioned cradle on a platform in the corner and Bucky dumped out their nested bedding to tuck in around the cushioned seating area on all sides. The seating around the nest rose in long, continuous steps in a fluid, organic shape meant to soothe a troubled omega. Symmetry could sometimes feel false to omegas, Clint remembered, even unsettle them until it was covered with something soft to change its artificial shape. It's one of the reasons omegas supposedly built nests for comfort even when they weren't breeding.

With the scent of sex from her and Clint on her nest bedding piling up rapidly around her, Darcy drifted in and out, scenting their indlwane up with nothing but good feelings and arousal amid the matching, contented scents of her gamma and beta, fluffing her a softer, better nest to cradle her through the overnight flight to freedom and safety.

And to their Alphas.

Once Nat and Steve were on board, Clint could let down his guard a little. Until then, he’d indulge his baser urges, he decided, stripping down to the skin and climbing in after Darcy to bury her beneath him and shield her with his body. A minute later, the base of the cradle dipped and swayed, and Clint sighed at the feel of hot super soldier skin pressed all along his back, doing the same, pressing him deeper into the nest and sheltering Darcy.

At the bottom of the pile, Darcy purred into Steve's T-shirt, flat and happy, her fingers kneading greedily at the soft cotton—not that anyone could see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens. *clasps hands like Mr. Burns* _Excellent._
> 
>   _Muahahahaha_


	8. Beauty Wakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! *throws confetti* It’s another update! Seriously, your response to last chapter was _amazing_ and just made me wanna write even more and see where this is going and I had kind of a great weekend, so here’s another update a lot sooner than any of us expected! Maybe another one soon, too, since I’ve got Chapter 9 well underway as well.
> 
> Suggested Listening: “Surround Me” by LÉON
> 
> Unbeta'd because I'm an impatient disaster and I finished this thing! And edited this thing! And wanted to post this thing ASAP! XD

Darcy slept.

She slept through the tense reunion with their Alphas, vibrating with sympathy rut and protective rage, and absolutely _reeking_ of righteous anger on behalf of their gamma and his omega.

She slept through Steve’s orders to the pilot of the second Talon shadowing them to break off for a brief touch-and-go landing in Philadelphia, among several other east coast cities to confuse anyone who might be tailing them.

She slept through the long flight to D.C. where Shuri played havoc on any eyes in the sky who might have been watching by touching down on a private runway and taxiing into a large, private hangar for several hours—or at least _appeared to_ to anyone who might be observing. Several town cars were dispatched from the private hangar, as well as three additional Talons, all with different international destinations.

She slept on as Shuri reactivated the Talon’s cloaking tech and a small, private portal device based on a certain astrophysicist’s published work in Einstein-Rosen Bridge theory, and taxied silently on reserve power directly to their destination through a portal opening in the hangar onto the wide lawn of a private park above a city an ocean away.

She slept while the inhabitants of the new city around her woke to a new day on a new continent with a fresh start as someone lifted her in strong arms, cradled safe and close, wrapped in a blanket scented like her gamma, and carried her through a garden lit up with all the colors of autumn, even in the hour before sunrise.

She slept all the while her friends and pack schemed to protect her from threats unknown.

Darcy slept.

* * *

She woke with a high whine and an indulgent stretch, feeling like a million bucks. Burrowed into her nest, she peered over the edge as footsteps padded near, stopping outside the door. She sat up and blinked in confusion at the door.

That was _not_ her door.

Nor Clint’s, either.

It was decorated all in shades of cream and seafoam and raised gold relief. The wall around it was covered in thick upholstery in an indistinct, floral tapestry of cream and seafoam, too. The wall perpendicular to it was paneled in more cream-colored wood and pretty, painted porcelain clay tiles around a delicate-looking wood stove standing on tiptoe, topped with a speckled cream teakettle. Through the little glass door, Darcy could see a well-tended fire burning in the belly of the little stove. It made a warm, cozy picture, all in all. And a warm nest, too. Darcy turned over in the covers between her nestmates and inhaled, feeling … really fucking good, truth be told. Warm and covered in pack scent, and safe, wherever she was.

She knew she was safe with Clint. His scent was everywhere—on her, the nest, hanging thick in the air, even clinging to the tapestry and nest hangings surrounding them. This room, though… This was not the room Darcy remembered falling asleep in.

Then, she really _felt_ the hot press of bodies to either side of her and caught their scents.

Clint: garlic, lime, and bowstring wax. With a faint, lingering whiff of whichever dog he’d pet last.

Bucky, the scents all new to her: soap, and shampoo, laundry detergent, and something sweet, with the tartness of fruit buried under all the layers of soap and astringents.

She wrinkled her nose. These weren’t the natural scents her hindbrain craved, but she could appreciate the thoughtfulness of showering before joining her in the nest.

Beyond the new door, a hushed voice, considerate of her dozing nestmates, asked, “Can I get you anything, Darcy?”

Steve.

“You can come in,” she murmured in return, holding her breath. She knew exactly what she was doing, what inviting an Alpha into her den and nest would mean. She knew well what it meant even when all she intended was to watch a few episodes of The Crown with him back home while sipping his thoughtful gift of booze and good intentions.

A courting gift, she hoped.

It would be her first, truly.

Clint had given her partnering gifts, of course—insisted on it, though it's not like someone with arms like his was hard on the eyes, and then there was his fierce determination to give pleasure as well as take all through his complicated heat-ruts. She always enjoyed partnering Clint. He was kind and considerate, and made her feel special in her own way, but theirs was a playful kind of friendship first, and convenient enough for both, alone as they were in the desert. She adored Clint and hoped, one day, they could be a little bit _more_ to one another now that he’d introduced her to his pack. Clint, who willingly—gladly, even—shared even his own denmates with a friend who had no one.

Steve, though…

Darcy watched Steve for weeks after her move to the tower, wondering if he would take notice of her watching him back. She wondered, too, if she could ever work up the nerve to court an Alpha rather than waiting to see if he took an interest first. She was at a disadvantage there, though, with her upbringing in an omega- and gamma-only foundling home, then living in the omega dorms on campus at Culver… And queries to Jarvis about Alpha courting traditions resulted in little useful information about how an omega should court an Alpha, if at all. All the best advice by experts seemed to suggest an omega who opened courting first would be found wanting, too forward and desperate to take seriously as a potential partner.

For the first time in her life, Darcy wished she’d had an Alpha friend growing up, someone who wasn’t a total knothead or an authority figure. So she did what she could and chewed her nails and did her job well, hoping someone would notice if she really applied herself.

When Jarvis reported a significant decline in explosions and Hulk-outs over her first month on the job, she was pleased to find a bonus in her paycheck and a sweet, handwritten note tucked into a spray of tulips on her desk from Pepper, praising her efforts. Maybe Pepper would mention Darcy’s results over dinner to the team one night and Steve would smile, remembering that one time they ran across each other near the elevators when she smiled and _he_ smiled, and they introduced themselves and Darcy accidentally mouthed off about Tony and scientists in general, and made Steve laugh about a memory of Howard Stark doing the same before Steve’s elevator arrived.

He came by the labs more after that, she remembered. Maybe Pepper did mention her and Steve needed time to approach his pack to bring up the sassy omega running the labs…? But more weeks went by with no more than smiles in passing and Darcy felt the telltale signs of another cold coming on. She hated these colds. They took forever to shake. She knew her performance would suffer and Tony might throw a fit if she went into the labs while she was sick, so she sucked it up and confined herself to her little office for a few days of quiet paperwork that needed catching up. It wasn’t so bad; a few quiet days would do her good, and with Jarvis to help keep tabs on the goings-on in the labs, her numbers shouldn’t suffer too much, she hoped…

Then she ran out of her precious hoard of Vitamin O and Jarvis couldn’t find a single retailer of the supplement she consumed like Tic Tacs anywhere in the city. Her online source out of a New Mexico Saturday market had dried up, too.

Darcy could hardly climb out of bed the day after she woke to an empty bottle of her vitamins. Quietly, she informed Jarvis of her need for a sick day and hoped nothing blew up as she sweated and fretted for her job, and shook with tremors in her nest, trying to build it up high and warm and safe with her own measly collection of heat-soft bedclothes and a few precious items with traces of partner scent she’d collected over the years. One of Jane’s ratty old T-shirts; a thin, throw blanket from a hastily put together partner basket Ian gave her by way of thanks for an emergency heat they shared; and several of Clint’s things he’d tucked away into her nest himself: an Iowa Hawkeyes-printed pillow in gold and black, a well-loved S.H.I.E.L.D. pullover with a hidden pocket full of pizza and popcorn Jelly Bellies, and a huge, purple hoodie printed with the logo from Big Bo’s 24-Hour Quiver Shack & Live Bait Emporium. In New Mexico, she got in the habit of nesting with Clint’s things clustered around her head so she could bury her face in his familiar scent without feeling guilty about seeking it out over and over again on her bad nights.

She had so many bad nights. The last thing she needed was to spend them tossing and turning, trying to find a patch of Clint’s scent to bury her nose in and feeling bad about needing it like an addict.

Now, her _whole nest_ smelled like him, with hints of Bucky. She could stay here absolutely _forever_ , she thought, humming and indulging herself in a long, deep inhale of scent as the door creaked and opened a few inches to let in the fresh scents of their new place.

“Still, I should ask.” Steve glanced up at her from beneath lowered lashes, looking less Alpha and more contrite lover. “May I enter your den, omega?”

“Please, yes. I thought you’d never ask. My nest, too. Come in, come in.” Darcy made grabby hands at him across the well-constructed wall of nest between her and the door.

“You had us worried, doll,” Steve confessed, kneeling beside the nest and mimicking Bucky’s actions back home; he removed his shirt and held it out as a proper offering for her to scent before allowing him entrance to her little omega kingdom on the bed.

At her back, Bucky stirred, pressing close. “That’s the good stuff right there, doll. Prime, virile Alpha. Ain’t nothin’ else like how our Stevie smells in the whole world,” he rumbled in her ear, then pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. Darcy’s throat thickened as her glands swelled with sudden arousal.

God, like Clint and Bucky didn’t have her on the edge of orgasm just pressing her between them like this.

Eager, Darcy helped herself to Steve’s offering, snatching it from his fingers and bringing it to her nose. She closed her eyes to inhale deeply and moaned when it hit her like a ton of bricks—leather and sandalwood, something salty and a little green. His scent coated the glands at the back of her throat like the delicious, heavy weight of a mate pressing her into the nest.

“May I court you, omega?” Steve asked.

Darcy’s jaw dropped in surprise.

_Court her?_

She thought he was going to ask to emergency-partner her!

“I… I…” she fumbled, wide-eyed and pre-heat-addled.

“You don’t have to say ‘yes’,” he was quick to assure her, resting back on his heels. “I just thought…” He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, then tipped his chin up and bared his throat. “When you’re ready, I’d love to partner you one day, too, but you deserve to be courted properly first, and Shuri says Cho’s estimate was off by up to a week, so there’s time and… and… I’d like to do right by you, doll.” He exhaled, eyes closed, and waited with all of his lovely neck bare and lickable from shoulder to chin.

Darcy stared.

Clint pinched her.

“Yes!” she yelped and scrambled over the edge of the nest to tackle Steve to the floor and touch him just _everywhere_ , rubbing her cheek along his jaw and nuzzling his arterial glands to cover her face and herself in his scent.

 _Uuunnf._ He smelled soooo _good_.

It was only when Steve’s eyes dilated in the low light of her new den and his hands slid up her thighs to cradle her hips that she realized she was bare-ass naked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon: Darcy's feeling better and it _shows_. 
> 
> Also: NAT! She's on a mission to find out what the frilly pink hell is going on with Cho.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
> • short comments  
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> This author replies to comments.
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> Note: If you don't want a reply, for any reason ('sometimes I feel shy when I'm reading and not up to starting a conversation', for instance), feel free to sign your comment with '-whisper' and I will appreciate it, but not respond!
> 
> As always, requests and/or demands for more are not welcome on this story. It is a fluff piece I work on when my anxiety is particularly bad. It’s a coping mechanism that makes me feel good. I update it when I need comfort, not on a schedule or on demand. Please do not abuse the comment section by using it to demand more free content. Writing fanfiction is a hobby. It’s meant to be fun for _all_ of us, not just readers.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cradle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17196362) by [ChrissiHR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrissiHR/pseuds/ChrissiHR)




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